against the stretched nylon
awning with the plink and sputter one can expect
the downspouts trickle-hum the spring rain through the fallen flowery buds and spring sticks stopping up the gutters
and as the sun lights the sky without showing its face
my poems and thoughts of loathing
of self being somehow not quite enough
of me falling short of some design I have forgotten
the tears trickle a bit like the rains in the downspout
sputter and plink as if off the nylon awning
my heart needs a good washing
I don’t know how it can come I
stand in the spring rain washing.