they pay to kiss your feet

since there's no one else around, we let our hair grow long and forget all we used to know. then our skin gets thicker from living out in the snow.

Monday, November 19, 2007


it rained this morning
but I didn’t feel it.
i was nestled between soft down
and a firm matress.

the drops fell — making sidewalks that wet brown color —
the one that used to mean it was time to go inside
because little girls didn’t need to play in the rain.

the clouds waved goodbye to their moisture
but i missed the show.

i was sleeping
peaceful, comforting sleep
the kind that knows no enemy
only the secure feeling of being loved
and of loving
and of dreaming to the drone of a fan
that drowns out noise like
speeding cars
barking dogs
quarreling lovers
and the sound rain makes as it hits
100-year-old brick

and so
i woke oblivious
to the suddenly warm, spring-like day

and when i stepped outside
the city looked alive.


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