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copypaste
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if living were a shirt,
you'd be size large
and i would be an
extra-small,
strangled by my own
attire,
because i spend my time
walking downtown
feeling smaller
and smaller
every
day.
if ever i had
the chance to hear
ten thousand abbey-monks
singing in perfect harmony,
i would still be stubborn enough
to say you
are more divine.
you are the start,
the in-between,
and the ever-after
of the most destructive
and beautiful storms
to grace the surface of my world;
every time you walk away
you leave behind
everything, everything,
all the evidence
that it will surely
rain again.
but i do not deserve
to dance in such a storm,
for i am worthless weather,
the kind where people
take the nearest object,
umbrella or newspaper,
and hide from the skies;
i'm a silent storm,
i am a raindrop in a
windless tempest,
i am
falling
without
direction.
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091202
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