rain stance

sunlight stales quick on palates seasoned
clear blue skies like Sunday conversations
i celebrate the rumbling approaching
church bells for the dark clouds rapid closing
plant bare feet in field of ‘lions tumbling
open arms to Pickett winds encroaching
rain not gutpunch welcomed wincing
when no gusts affecting angle
chilling droplets as they splash
when you don’t have balls to get to
shallow impress to abash
wind not wicked hinderance
steed team pulled Zeus chariot
siren songs filled courage sails
spirited man’s conquest fails
sheriffed seasonal shift changes
whispers truth i skeptic listen
mind surfing the skyline’s rigid spine
time not figment fabrication
voodoo trick or parlor game
beast beyond our whip to tame
steady star heavenly poled
luminating mirror’s frame
mother dream remembered hollers warning
turning i see edge of field
running free with childish glee reaching
realize not tree but she my refuge
arms transformed branch armaments
vita patronum protectoris
/
pre-dawn present searching city still
samba queen sumatra dressed to dance
between lake and Lakeshore Drive
my slab of lakeside solace
Reginald in shadows cloaked
behind a lamppost pillar
joggers pacing huffing creaking counting laps
self-medicated penance for self-prescribed

 regrets
i wanna be cool casual
as those can’t be bothered egrets
as nonplussed in my standing as their

 staying
Reggie postures protest of my presence
resents ambitioned stasis
abandons hideout turning to the street
grumbles unfair futurist predictions
after a pause i slide into his spot
behind the lamppost pillar
in the shadow’s envied dark
look down and cannot see my shoes
gaze west across the water
neon Tribune straight ahead
the sun somewhere behind my back
less than hour rising
then the thunder bass drum pounds
intros unforecast storming clouds
hoodlums creeping ambushing
cracking quiet-splitting sounds
turn to check on Reginald
cowering back to covered nook
front gone diner left of Lucky’s
occupied he turns returns
desperately exposed and in full open field retreat
toward the unroofed pigeon painted concrete
where bad luck lightning threatens
and he sees no tree but me
watching the frightened egrets flight
yet unimpulsed to flee
branch-bestowed by default next to him
our backs against the lamppost pillar
betting on the race
between the lightning and daylight
waiting to see which ruins
the placid chill of night
so it is as so it goes
somes your role the Reggie
times instead the Oak
enchantingly at mercy

either way of Chance’s stroke

songs of the sumday