A day without rain.
The wet clouds hover like humpbacks.
Their songs muted.
Their enormous grins subdued.
The alchohol haze fading
as the radio loops
graveyard to morning chat
resurrection story.
How long has this tea been steeping?
Like cool motor oil and bitters.
The world revives
Leaves stretch to dawn's light.
Through my prison bars, dry paint on the sill
the kind that saps the moisture out of your fingertips
screaches against your nails.
chips in all the wrong places into the soft spots.
A profound hopelessness peeks over the rooftops.
Held down by the nefarious blue and grey.
I found myself rooting for tyranny behind a sip of shimmering slick oolong.
The sun will only bring dry, day, and light.