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My Jeans Became Wet from the Rain
Folder:
Better Poems
Where do the butterflies hide in a storm?
What do the hummingbirds do in high winds?
And why do I ponder on victims?
Where's willful exuberance?
Tough hided challenge?
Where is rhinoceros? Where king of the buffalo?
One day the weather was cold, wet, and windy
My jeans became wet, the roads became empty,
But I, I,... I felt a fire within
I was bliss of my own heat
Dependent on none but my own running feet
I laughed at the weather
How puny, how negligible
My skin loved sensation
I was glad and I was glad
That day's joy was brought to me courtesy of smoking pot
But the question remains:
How do I kindle fire on my own?
Refind a furnace that shrinks not from the rains?
