Jack…the water is overflowing…there must be a stick – a gutter pit
Is it a ball…is it mud…when does it break
Love is shee-it, love is the muck that’s stuck…that’s bleeding from the gutter,
Rain dissolves in it man and it disappears
Does it ever stop hurting…that loss…that pain and regret?
I remember the cottage and the tears of rain spilling from the flowers in the window…
like cups of pain overflowing
Where does that leave me…in all my tours around the sun…nothing…nothing to show for it all….nothing to compare
Lost
…driving through the smoke and the record breaking rain…this is a winter man
trying to force summer…
trying to find the right amount of smoke…trying to find the fire.
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One Comment
Wonderful! I love the style of writing method you chose as well. Sort of like a flash fiction or even prose but at the time it’s poetic.