On the bus to somewhere to pay a fine for a careless man
Yesterday it rained and rained. A rain to quench the thirst of one thousand waiting open mouths. A rain to burst into ecstatic rhythms on dirty pavements and rusty rooftops. And then a rain that softly licks the stinging sores that she herself created. I want to present myself to this rain. To open myself; open mouth, open pores, open arms, offer no resistance, and just spin around in circles. I want to be part of the rebirth of the world.
But this rain leaves a bitter aftertaste on my skin, an acrid smell in my nostrils. The sickening fresh scent of washed gutters and wet pavement follow me down every street. The nostalgia of my soul slips away as soft, floating traces of euphoria stifles me. The spleen rises from my belly to my chest in an angry bound that brings tears to my eyes. The sky, bloody black and blue, schizophrenic, broods condescendingly over my misery. And he comes galloping back the bastard, his hooves trampling my spirit like the feverish beating of the lapo kabwit drums. And shameless, I welcome its return. Rain whore.