hail_storm
birdmad yesterday morning

time weilding the cold blade to kill the last clinging vestige of summer

awaken to feel the slight chill in the room, sound of raindrops pattering softly on the rooftop and into the little puddles forming on the uneven terrain of the yard

walk over and open the door, peering at the light shower through the mesh of the screen door

turn some music on, low volume, a little charlie_parker, a little dead_can_dance

eat a light breakfast

lie back down and close my eyes, not sleeping but dreaming nonetheless, blissfuly aware of the sound outside

a little idyllic daydream a little bit of melancholy and a little splash of memory and a flicker of a new dream

listen a little while longer
the rain picks up its pace and volume, now more like the sound of a running stream than a scattering of droplets

laugh for a second, wish briefly and furtively for the cigarettes i gave up almost 7 months ago, let the craving pass, the music in the speakers reaches a crescendo but is drowned out by the sound of marble-sized bits of ice clattering off of all the sheet-metal in the junkyard next door the way i imagine it must sound in a ball-bearing factory when they drop the newly minted projectiles into bis to be sorted, weighed and counted

sit up and open the blinds to watch the hail fall as i lounge on the sofa, turning up the music just slightly so i can still hear it mingled with the sound of the storm

when the rain stops, i take a little nap, content with the chill and the dark sky and still a little bit sick from the illness that got passed around my office

back into my dreams for a little while
021027
...
paste! The entire surface of the moon
is covered with metal shavings
twirling to the ballads of tigers.
This alludes to our dance
that is facing up to astronomical
memory loss.
Onto the soggy paper roof
the owl perforates
an image of its wing yanking out from
a barbed wire sculpture of The Icelander,
its final folly.
040506
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