Wednesday 1/31/2007 12:09:00 AM

After it's over there are all the details to extrapolate. Invent. It's just a threatening sky until I'm wet. I couldn't tell you which raindrop fell first. Nor which ushered out the parade. I only know that I'm drenched. That the details don't matter until it's time to come in from the rain.

I didn't paint the house. Didn't build it. The small windows that look like eyes when the moon is lazy. The recessed door that tries and fails to conceal the entrance. I didn't plant it there so far from all the others. I just found it like that. And no, I'm not the house, but I've lived there.

Culling life from fallen branches. Inspecting the sour fruit its dropped for any seeds to plant.

I didn't build the house. But I will take responsibility for creating it. As it stands now. It isn't my home, but I do live there.

At least for now.

Whatever color it happens to be.

0 comments:


| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2016. All Rights Reserved.