yoru mind. it has been stretched, it has been shot,
it's 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 is the sound of questions brewing,
it is hugo's triggering town, blown
the hell out of kansas, shivering at the cold cut
of punctation. it has been studied and shown
to wash clean the grime 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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