It looks like rain.

[Jerrybaldy]

It looks like rain
on the dark stains of your gilet.
Your lady looks like her brother
from another mother.
You look like death,
your eyes like they may fall
from their sockets.
I am looking to the future.
Tomorrow is looking back
asking what the f uck
I think I am looking at.

Let it rain.
With heavy clothes
pulling toward puddles
where the litter swims,
where life may reform,
given time.

Puddles are yesterdays
to jump in
distorting reflections
of rewritten pasts.

"Too many metaphors"
You say from the corner,
your gilet drying in the philosophical
corner of the bar.
We have been friends a long time.
Let's call it a day.
You prick.
Get some sleep.

Let it flood and wash all hope away.

Let it rain
so there is sewage in the streets
where stilettos
pierce holes in passing turds
and toilet paper wraps around our ankles
like world's end Morris dancers
kissing strangers in the rain,
lip gloss with a promise
of all we want to end.

Shoot me in a useless limb.
I don't wanna die
or anything.
This is a poem
This isn't a poem
This is the end.
This is a poem.
This isn't a poem.
This is the end.

[AuntShecky]

Well, so much for the plain in Spain, along with Cherry Blossom Lane. I had to look up "gilet?" (I thought it was a razor, like "Gillette."
Your poem still has that strong, unique "voice." Hope it really isn't "The End."

Your pal,
Auntie

[Bar22do]

Puddles are yesterdays
to jump in
distorting reflections
of rewritten pasts



Very special, even though I find "rewritten" somewhat redundant.

[prendrelemick]

Fantastic

[Haunted]

Cant' think of anything clever to say, as all the clever is already in the poem, except that I like it very much. It's your usual gritty but with a touch of softness all at the same time. Keep them coming Jer. No more deletes.