Friday, 2 September 2016

Rain for Viola


to Jazz Malkin

     Dear friend, the rain as we hear it tearing
     from the ground or groaning up into the
greying, somehow swaying or numb blankness.
What are those functions(?); when are they stuck up,
     stapled eye to eye to look forward, out
     across this rattling and rhythmic little
street-thing, when we find out ourselves; if speed
has detached from the motions of speaking

birds soar up and back and somehow nought down,
     zero to street level to level with
your,, no not that there is no hope that we
     cherish in the zero content of voice
one, mine: Splashing its useless words but what
use is speaking ever when there's years, love
     and a borderless range of optional
     hazards, and you are total. Somehow know
that; you are total, a sister nought down
to eye to street level and up, in with
rain, your heart to me, dropping just to rise.


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