Poem: When it Rains

Rain drops: small and sublime are sliding, tapping on my shoulder, bouncing with irregular rhthyms–a parade in the streets–marching, beating, like the step, step, and swing of the legs to the rag-tag big band blues, marked by its siren singster.  A Wetness chills to the bone, accompanied by each sharp stringed cry, in its quietude, mysterious yet symmetric, and synchronized to the ocho–stomp, stomp, and swing of the legs–and cresendo, repeat.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

Greatest hits

  • 1,395 hits
%d bloggers like this: