While the rain falls indifferently on us all...

[jack_babalon]

Well. Here I am. Off the clock and often according to my coworkers "off the chain". Getting ready for another stroll in an Atlanta downpour. Eternal recurrence, reruns of your childhood flooding the routine mind from the basement of the subconscious. I Remember going down the New York streets thinking "no other city could look this beautiful in the rain":It all comes back my friends:The sound of puddles splashing on the sidewalk as you try and dodge the waves from the passing traffic; the broken umbrella you carry back home like a wounded solider; the taste of the sky when you hold your mouth open to the clouds; the way the skyline goes invisible in the gray fog waiting like a secret you forgot you knew, the smell of electricity and cut grass( and now that i'm older the rain smells like women post coital and numb);
most of all the clean feeling you get that no shower or bath seems to give you.
Heh. Anyway closing shots:

CLOSING SHOTS
Charles Bukowski

as the poems go into the thousands you
realize that you've created very
little.
it comes down to the rain, the sunlight,
the traffic, the nights and the days of the
years, the faces.
leaving this will be easier than living
it, typing one more line now as
a man plays a piano through the radio,
the best writers have said very
little
and the worst,
far too much.
from ON THE BUS - 1992

I decided that it was not wisdom that enabled [poets] to write their poetry, but a kind of instinct or inspiration, such as you find in seers and prophets who deliver all their sublime messages without knowing in the least what they mean.

Socrates(not sure where found this on the net)

Have a happy hump day
Ciao