Blame it on the Rain

For years it had been my aspiration to be splattered by oncoming vehicles in the rain, because really, how refreshing does that look?  Well, my dream has been realized.

A few years ago…

On the eleventh of September (2010) I woke up in anticipation of an eye doctor appointment.  It was raining even harder when I came out of the office with runny eyes and rounded glasses on.  As I stood on a single isle in the center of Queens Boulevard several moving tires slushed in the street—left my left side splattered and splashed in their wake.

And I could have sworn that from the rainbow residue of the pin-point-puzzle-puddles, remnants of my childhood dropped down to play.

A week later this episode, this quick vision (which is my term for a terrifying day dream) absorbed my thought stream:

We are sitting in the waiting room, the reception room, with our eyes dilating, staring at the ceiling with shut lids—peering through the lurid veins of the sightless.  A man in a trench coat walks in.

We cannot see this anonymous person, but we can connote that the boots hitting the carpeted floor belong to the heavy footfalls of a man. 

We hear the reflex of a cocking gun.  And suddenly I am alone.

You know that saying, you can hear a pin drop in silence, well in a crash you are the pins dropping.  A splash drops us like dominos, following each other in a fallen progression.  But we are sheltered by our sealant eyes.

The sounds are burnt then; the smells are a cold metal corroded coal-scent.

I rise, blind, hurdling over the myriad of bodies.  We are no longer.  Stationary, I stall, stalk, stuck in a stand-still.  Something is softening in my heel.  With smudgy vision I bolt.  An emptying out of nothing escapes my mouth as I nudge through the door unfolding out on the street.

I let my knees lose me—loosen to the asphalt.  They are scraping raw tinges at the edges of my extremities.  My hands I can see only in spots. They pass my face, my hands, they pass my eyes too, and cover the top of my head as if an a-bomb has been discharged from the air.  My sight has dimmed with the onset of night or a downpour, and I hear the booted footsteps of the stranger at my back. 

I am the only witness to this mess, and I am eyeless.  So I shrink into the cement.  

Mulch

It all regenerates

Biodegrades

The elements whither away the leaves

Seep the drainage system 

I’ve got to seed

The rain looks like a cartoon

A movie

A moving projection

One of those black in white

Mickey Mouse type

Moveable pictures with the flip of the page

It makes a drumming noise—the papers—

And the rain has melody 

Musicality pouring from the roof

Burr—tongue rolls—burring