underneath the rain, the city is darker.
underneath the city, our thoughts are purer.
yet, homeless still doesn’t have a home,
especially in my mouth.
how bitter, the dismal drunkeness
of our days without. just without.
we are where the telescope ends
(before the microscope begins)
and we are devouring our inexhaustible
dread, because we have nothing
else to devour.
::
Month
