poemmw10rain-1 - that blows the house before it in full...

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I am someone who boots myself from bed when the alarm cracks my sleep. Spineless as raw egg on the tilted slab of day I ooze toward breakfast to be born. I stagger to my desk on crutches of strong coffee. How sensuous then are the mornings we do not rise. This morning we curl embracing while rain crawls over the roof like a thousand scuttling fiddler crabs. Set off a twenty-one tea kettle salute for a rainy 4th with the parade and races cancelled, our picnic chilling disconsolate in five refrigerators. A sneaky hooray for the uneven gallop of the drops, for the steady splash of the drainpipe, for the rushing of the leaves in green whooshing wet bellows, for the teeming wind
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Unformatted text preview: that blows the house before it in full sail. We are at sea together in the woods. The air chill enough for the quilt, warm and sweet as cocoa and coconut we make love in the morning when there's never time. Now time rains over us liquid and vast. We talk facing, elastic parentheses. We dawdle in green mazes of conversing seeking no way out but only farther into the undulating hedges, grey statues of nymphs, satyrs and learned old women, broken busts, past a fountain and tombstone in the boxwood of our curious minds that like the pole beans on the fence expand perceptibly in the long rain....
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poemmw10rain-1 - that blows the house before it in full...

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