The rain had lasted 16

out of the last 18 days

and with it the chance to

open books and old cds

I ran into Bob Dylan's

anthems and with them-this,

"...Ain't it hard when you

discover that

He wasn't really where

it's at

After he took from you

everything he could steal..."

and I still hang around

the ceiling

waiting for

waiting for

waiting for

Little instances of

escape

Not into myself

But the soft breath

of another

And tell people,

"I really like being

alone,"

And fade away

to childhood

(don't we all)

And listen to those

voices

Carrying me away

to then

Because now

feels

So distant.