You're gonna come down in sheets And I'm gonna take it Because I need it It's a reluctant pummeling It's a rejoice with a relapse Sick gray daze hazes of rain beating me, bathing me scathing frigidity drifting over me I measure in inches what you've given gathered sand to keep you at bay and pray for more I've raided stores And boarded up for your arrival Come to me Flood my streets I'm gonna curse And vow to sleep through it all but I'll admit, I am enthralled watching and waiting for the onslaught peeking through curtains watching puddles turn to lakes turn to seas of all that we need and I will squeal "Please let up." And it will pound on until it's done. You could always get more than you can handle and be grateful for it.
Rainstorming
The Future
In a few minutes
we will have wasted a few more
looking at the black spot
just beyond the headlights,
waiting for things
to come into view,
waiting for good things to come,
waiting for the future to arrive
at gate B42
and greet it with hugs
as if it will be different
than the last time we waited
for something to arrive,
forgetting once we can see it,
we are bored.
In a few minutes
we will do things
that have been done before
feel feelings
that have been felt before,
but with different objects around us.
We will charge forward
holding remnants of familiarity,
answering to routine
and perhaps foreign traffic
coming in, and talk about it
as if we know what it is
before it arrives;
as if we are sudden clairvoyants
without an ego-biased agenda.
In a few minutes
we will realize that all
of anything coming or went
may be a another version
of something
that has happened before
and the only true distinction is
our individual
human
experience…
which is now.
