Jul/Aug 2003 • Poetry |
Before the Downpour
As the sky caramelizes
into a slab
waiting to unfurl its gut,
I think I am
not of this world.
And at this hour,
when the atmosphere splits
open like a shin wound,
but darker, more gross,
I think of gutters
clogged with pressed leaves,
and raindrops crawling
on torn screens.Climb out of this life.
Become a body stepping in
and out of other bodies.I am pulling a chair to the window.
I am waiting for the weighty rain.