Wicked Witches Aren'T the Only Ones Who Melt

The cry is a teardrop, unheard Among all the others in a curtain of teardrops. You stand in the rain that falls out of nothing The way gray cats move through back street alleys... The way we learn to live. You stand obscured - outer edges indivisible With all your mistaken emotion Whose passion is spent for coppers.... Planes and angles leading inward - always inward... An off-color blueprint Melting in the weighted air above you; A black & white parallelogram slightly out of skew. Close in upon yourself - close in... You used to hold the world at bay Before you got bone weary, Wild and bitter.... Cheeks and lashes wet with rain, Or is it rain, after all...? Is it really the rain Or your excuse to stand there like an afterthought, Fugitive from someone else's deeper scheme Who put their name to yours...? Standing in the rain,become the rain; Become a cry. Become a teardrop in a curtain of teardrops... One single moment at twilight hangs suspended; You turn in the nimbus of half-light mist To find the street signs gone. Become invisible. Become a cry against the teardrops. Become lost in the curtain.. Do not become at all.. The world is just a shade too slick for you, Even as the curtain falls... Even as your curtains fall Wicked witches aren't the only ones who melt... Wicked witches aren't the only ones at all...