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Rain In the Streets
everywhere
stripped-down gargoyles.
a thirsty cubism
of the grotesque.
prophecies slicken the apathy of tar.
buff a phalanx
of windshield frowns.
the teardrop warnings reap only scorn.
wheels scoot away,
wrangles of rubber and locked horns of iron.
almost invisible commuters shrivel to fret,
hunkered down in their cube-laden algebra,
afraid of the freedom from the sky.
could it remind them of their own pulse,
the rain in their squelched heartbeats?
all those secret desires,
prolific and censored as rain,
gush down into buried pipes,
babbling to feed nothing:
dead ends, paper trails,
the rootlike grasp of money.
nothing at all.
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