I am writing on the pain
While trading truths for driving rain.

I disappear in shards of ice
That melt into a shallow pool
Of thoughts and sense too grey to paint–
All this from a liquor glass.

I flip a coin, drop rolling dice
On a thick table full of fools.
One’s name is Mind, the other Feint,
Another’s Heart, he’s always last.

I burn a lake to catch a fish,
But in her belly find no flies–
A single iridescent pearl.
I cry red tears and fall asleep.

In sleep I wasted my last wish–
I bartered for a pocket lie
And dropped it in a torrent-whirl
To steal red tears, so I may weep.

Now I’ll go write on the rain
And think of days less dull & plain.

-B.W. Gladney


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