Gray Sky

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.

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