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   w h e n    i t    r a i n s

--- H E R M A N   B E A V E R S

We could natter about the thick sludge of recollection, the tuneless scratch of methodical ghosts, how all our yesterdays flex muscles as dark and striated as nimbus clouds. The cool & brilliant among us might suffocate but for their present circle of friends. They know every sentence has a diagram, a gist we might ascertain if only we could beam sense through this static of ruined terracotta. Soft shadows at dusk muscle the eye toward the most concrete of judgments. You have the luxury of being able to pick a face out of this assembly, just outside Kankakee, IL. community of the like-minded, a place where children's names come out of the Bible, never to return. They know abuse can be soft as rose petals or a brick just shy of an eye. And somewhere men who sleep in motels, bedclothes unmussed, fold over a page in the book of narcissism, groping for the backside of a moan.

© crossconnect, inc 1995-2005 |
published in association with the |
university of pennsylvania's kelly writers house |