By John Grey

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Thought over it
as rain piled on…
the roof, the windows, everything…
considered pure refusal,
the remnants of my energy,
as rain reached out,
tormented my reverberating psyche…
there was repent the carnal alley ways
or bathe more often,
or stop lapping up snow-melt with my tongue,
or give the tanned young man in my head
the tattered family Bible,
that he might someday spray his altars
with fine jasmine or unadulterated piss –
but then I figured coldness
was my only mercy,
black clouds that swamp my head
bursting, going with the rain…
fact is, I cannot
though I have,
I must not,
though I should…
through mud, through scrubby hills,
through the door of friends
and out the door of strangers…
no more feeling that isn’t
fingers on my chin,
no looking further than the walls
of the room I’m in…
damn rain, I’m staring through the window pane,
it’s all reflection with runny eyes and nose,
surprised to meet a man of my shrunken dimension
I vow to never think of her,
to shoot first, speak less,
take money where I find it,
and soon enough the rain will stop,
sky clear, maybe even warm up a little just
enough so I need not vow again…
spend my last years
blistered on the beach

John Grey