Inverted in a soaking street,
rain berates the soles of feet
thrust skyward in a pagan
sort of dance,
I'll take the chance of slipping
as I'm sipping at my hourglass.

Shoulders disconnect and then
I'm wet,
facedown in shimmering runoff
but I can't stop,
palms sliding through the hiding
oil slicks
until I stick to something dry
like sunshine
stuck between precipitated lines
in this ghetto.

Prone against the curb,
breathing skid marks
and my nose is bleeding—
what if a car comes?
I'll be a smear without a tear,
burned rubber in my lungs
from where I sucked it up
through antiquated asphalt.

Trash flows past,
I'm too enthralled by what's so
galling,
children victim to their homes,
sidewalks laced with bone dust
and I'm crippled in a stranger's
parking spot;
they'll come back soon,
won't look before I'm crushed,
acid gushing across pitch pavement,
but I'm okay with it,
I guess,
just another way to go.

It started as a game
but I'm still sane,
only more resigned to find
the answers to that question
gnawing at my spirit,
can't you hear it call my name?

So here I go again.