the following poem has been modified to fit
your mind. it has been stretched, it has been shot,
it has had invisible words edited from it.
those unhatched ideas cloud and blot,
diffuse the infinity ink into something gray,
something raggedy shoes something blah-blue
something two-toned flat trombones would play
WAH-WAH with. it has been imagined, construed,
it has been confused. it has a life of its own,
it has no life but its home of stormy letters
and snow-melt brain cells. it has been studied and shown
to wash the grime out of creative gutters,
to shower drops that plop down like fat men.
It will be rated rain, we’ll watch it again and again.
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