after great doubt eye strain and intermittent rain some peanut butter and crackers but months grow crumble and blow away in the humid breeze it never left
Tag Archives: rain
a strange rhythm wakes me from a sleep I didn’t know I had taken from the closeout bin of a dingy store while the rain ruins plans we didn’t want to keep
sound of rain
seeds
the wind
in
my throat
closes at dusk
Recovered Notes on the New Planet
the sky moves so fast a fragrance like marshmallow
what I thought a purple crystal dissolved in morning dew
evidence of the old civilization if the light is just right on the microscope slide
meters into the crevasse wrongly assumed it was scree
fields like maple syrup over a fresh argument
a language I’ve yet to master sneaks into my notes
returning to a previous marker an acrid smell sunken ground
stuck inside the tent autocorrecting hail
rivers like a laughing bandage to forget the insults of rock
the way forward often loops around in sharpened midday rain
what I wrote on a rock ran away
this mountain like melted gnomes who to name it after
a quiet spot by the river eaten by these mineral teeth
the silicavore’s thought projections jostle the rover’s gyro
a fine web like cotton candy spreads toward the sea by evening
I think there are dogs in the clouds
a dry brown leaf and voices in the wind almost enough like home
late bare tree rain again counting the dog’s nipples
after the poem of rain the prose of mushrooms
and woke to the hiss of rain on the unfinished tomb
rain runs through the hills a harpsichord
winter rain the smoothness of a kidney bean
more cold rain my nails still too long