Sometimes I wish I could be
the gray sky that’s
just about to crack open and spit,
while I wait like an angry husband,
who’s been holding his breath
in the parking lot
in the hopes of catching his wife
coming out from behind
Mr. Grocer again,
all starry eyed and goosing the young drifter
she just sucked the lightning out of,
unrealized dreams, that sort of thing.
But then sometimes all I want to do
is funnel down
and fall in love with everything I blur.
the real subject is always you 