Don’t look up at the rain

Don’t look up at the rain

 

Be a fine young upstanding man.

Like a bit of everything and stand

on street corners out the way, but

don’t

look up at the rain.

 

Ask people about their hobbies. They’re

the same as yours.

Close the doors, less roars

Nobody roars,

                        anymore.

 

It’s the zeitgeist, right?

Don’t speak how you feel, don’t

put up a fight or say what you really mean.

It’ll be deemed as seen dreams. And don’t

look up at the rain.

 

A silent, seething vanity mass, diluted,

spread-full and bloated with worms.

All bad breath and weak wrists, claiming

the taming of the sea.

The fire went out. Look!

 

The tea dunked dribble, the pea

brained middle won out.

Withered nothings, never said needs, brimming

edges. Why would you never

look up at the rain?

 

Farewell tormented firmament

fire-eyed filed days of my youth.

It’s not me who grew tired, it’s

the world.

What are you looking for?