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 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...