It is the morning of the rain.
A misty Seurat haze
soothes eyes toward turning
vast distances apart.
Hands puzzle empty goblets,
ball-point table cloths.
Strangers pose
in silent bedrooms
near the rainbow of gasoline
weathered faint by somber rain.
Morning paints
its dim impressions,
serrates edges, swirls clouds
as rain rolls back
its dead man's eyes.
Originally Posted On Site: 2009-10-09 17:21:29
Last Login: 03.02.10
Visits as of 12-12-07: 245
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