Rain sprinkles on my roof like rats racing on the ceiling,
I pursue the curtains in the rooms from running naked,
and mad, and tie their senses back to the drapery hooks.
I look at the streets, densely deserted, empty of traffic,
Rain sweeping madness off the streets after tiring day,
And chasing the rich and the poor running without batons,
Old and young running without exchanging batons.
I ask why this Nation crawls to progress
But the rich run to beat laws and overtake decrees
The poor run wild on low wages and fall like waters off the roof.
The aged running from old age, swag exhaustively with walking sticks
And perch on the jobs on which they never can fly again.
The young hasting to catch up with jobs long outgrown,
overtake the cautious aged to the grave. They run fast and furious
with assumptions, leaving their truths behind.
Why must we wear the running of a broken tap, gushing out,
falling but rising, and falling and running,
like a staggering toddler to a marathon star…
I say I will rise and run and when I’m tired I will
fall like rain in love with my life. The universe is there
to pull my vapouring spirit back to the sky feet.
The rain is falling, waters running ahead of the land, byroads
Slippery, runners are falling, and they are not afraid of wounds
For the body that can heal itself.
The rain is falling, others are falling in love.
The rain is falling, I am not afraid to fall asleep
like a child which sleep takes away what her heart and hands hold tight.