The day drips down my window in the form of rain
KTLA News at 10:00 with too much makeup
Says the indoors is a safe place to be this year
Away from the polluted air and busy streets
I'll stay focused on my typewriter with little ink
And type until the fingertips are white like Northern snow
Some poets have too much to say with limited space
And pages of filth and lovers go to waste
Like me
It's 11:37 and the T.V. screen is weary from broadcasting
Floods in a country with a 30-syllable name
And the news reporter with the expensive suit
Is still promising the small group of local viewers
With rain
And limited commercial flights to finely-established states
Tickets have sold for $99 (tax not included)
But I have nowhere to go
There are pages I must waste
And ask why the sky omitted the perfect sunlight
Through my window
And how it is possible that I stayed in bed all day
And listened to the rain
That ran down my window and fell too far down
