faux sky

droughting again
the sky teases me into
belief and i want to go there
badly. sit on the porch
with a cup of coffee and listen
to the wound of rain
coming down on the aluminum roof.
not quite sure if i want you to be
there or not. there's so many
threads unravelled on this loom
the pattern's trying to move
into a self designed tune.
i will say this. i don't write
in rhyme too much these days.
that infection lasted for a season
of ram & rom overload. however i do
miss music. and in your eyes
i hear nothing. bleached blond scatteracts
tesselating on the square. no signs
to point the way back home. i guess
i do have to live like a refugee,
cuz that's where all is fair.