rain in la


when it rains i think
of repeated metaphors
of time
the shapes formed by primordial forces
i observe them from here
it’s warm
the look in your eyes and
the sound of your voice
reflecting, refactored in each drop
its sound soothes, soft and rolling to the touch

observable on occasion, like today
when it rains in LA
but its a constant feeling like
Nietzsche’s eternal recurrence
“the metaphysical comfort”
felt by the rain as it falls
felt by the world as each drop adds to its mass
driven by the gravity of your laugh

tomorrow it’ll disappear
but i yearn for the rain,
for its life-giving
the beauty it heralds as dawn
clears the sky


no title


there’s a secret place and only you’ve been there
it’s like an island glittering and lonely and warm
as an ocean breeze rustles your hair like your lover’s fingers
cool to the touch

here you only need you and your voice echoes down the chasm
created by space that night
you looked up and saw a few stars and thoughts
grow like untended vegetation in your secret place
and you can watch their evolution while you think
about temporal displacement and other highbrow shit

until you hear a sound like reality
that tears you from that time you hugged and didn’t
want to let go but you knew it was time
and your secret place wasn’t so secret anymore
now there are other voices and cars and roads
and relationships out on the periphery of your vision

and all you need to do is turn your head and you’re no longer hiding
out there in your secret place and sometimes it weighs heavily
and you go outside and stare at the real ocean

and you don’t cry because people can see you

and you don’t whisper thoughts to yourself

and you don’t try to find that secret place again

and you walk out in the sun

light, grimacing because it’s hot, but not wilting