absolution, baby

absolution, baby.
this isn’t failure, this is
never having attempted in the first place.

thicklipped, tricklerain mutters warnings down my roof.
gutters swell with it, bordering, whilst we are
on the brink of this terrible storm
there is lightning but no thunder –
no warning, merely action.

trains spin the carousel of my mind off its hinge
this is pre-rain, pre-death.
and across the veranda i can see the glow of tvs,
and the insistent noise of microwaves and
kettles spilling over.
surely, the whirring of the police siren
must eventually die away?
in the meantime though, there is exoticism to savor:
Singapore only must have this heavy air,
but this grey cannot fake the closeness
that warm rain can.

and i want to fling myself against the railing
and cry out to the heavens
for this sky that will betray not a wrinkle
of what we must all be feeling.

absolution, baby.
absolution.

a/n: i feel terrible.
we need the rain, you know? and here i am, sitting out on this if-only-it-were-pitch-black veranda with this Baby on my lap watching the neighbors pace back and forth in front of the tv. we need the goddamn rain, and we were meant to have a storm, but all we have is the lightning, and this sick feeling in the back of my throat. i’m going to go have tea. i came out to throw myself into the rain – it’s been hot all goddamn day, after all – and instead i’m writing words about asking for forgiveness. i feel like if it would rain, i would feel less…not guilty, dirty. And not for myself, but for others, i guess. modern life. tvs and microwaves and those stupid fucking neighbors i hate so goddamn much practically having sex on the balcony with a different person every afternoon, and the light someone leaves on every night – but he comes home late anyway. absolution would be nice. maybe the rain could…wash it away. but it won’t goddamn rain. so they sit there and watch harry potter for the millionth time and drink beer and smoke.
this fucking sucks.