Roses die upon a bed of roses
With mirrors weeping at them.
—Jack Spicer
This was in Tower Records with
a better quality of life. Opening
on October 12th at the Galaxy
Theater. Where we never were.
The
goutish ocean lapping at the eaves.
Rain is all elation today, with an
umbrella held by another’s
bronzish arm, loving and
smooth as the forgotten
sun.
Rain is where we go when all is
lost, or thought so, but look....:
We had only begun to forget.
