A poem by Anita Olson

by

Sleepy city drizzled in cold rain

with icy droplets splashing sleepy city dwellers.

The cold water ought to do ‘em good.

Break ‘em out of those gloomy grey lines; add a lil’ pizzazz, a dash of animation.

Do ‘em good all that water.

Revitalize energize revolutionize galvanize those rusty parts shaking off corroded scales. Provoked by the cold steady shower, not lulled into dreams of singing golden angels.

Let it pour down with torrential immensity.

Glacier cold water volleying against unconsciousness peeling putrid layers of irrational

deceit…the sensitometer must be broken.

Some are awake yet refuse to touch the drops

and dancing in it only shuffles between enlightenment and apathy.

Scars red and raw sting and sizzle as the poignant rain rips and ridicules potato sacks.

Acquainted rancid teeth gnashing at the cold certainty.

All that water, do ‘em good?

Icy veracity scorching warted fingers fumbling through golden dreams.

Too much bloody pizzazz down here.

Thick lines of buttered up silence and graceful steaming hush puppies…

shuffle shuffle, shuffle shuffle.

Wide awake but windows shut…gotta keep all that cold rain out and off.

Hemorrhaging ice crystal clouds shatter against nylon shields and crumble on concrete,

rolling down the pipes, gathering, waiting…waiting…

Break the fuckin’ sluice already.

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