Don't Look At Me and Judge

Don't Look At Me and Judge

The beauty of so much water is hard
to enjoy when lakes have formed where
 the ground once was. Oh, I miss the ground.
It’s super-saturated and pooling up on top
just like my heart does in a crimson drizzle.

My drizzle strengthens and pounds the asphalt.
As I fall, the immersion increases steadily.

Washing up our bodies in stagnant waves.
Shift from my perch on the porch
to a position more suitable to my flood.

Watch as a car floats by down the street
and into never-ending depths of the ocean.

I hope there are no people in it, I say from my bed,

sorry for them if they are. They’ll continue
until they are as lost as I am.

I am the rainstorm that washes people away.
Feel what I have felt; forced indoors.
Some girls next door run around, outside, screaming;
drenched bathing suits clinging to their shivering

bodies. Shut up, I think. I pull the covers to my chin.

Queue, roll over in bed. I shiver too.
Not from my downpour but from the a/c
which pours from its vent like the rain.  
They should be married, I sigh. Cold and wet

forever disputing one another.

I am worse. I sway back and forth
between gale and infuriating mist.
I would rather be the mist and settle
softly over the world in a wet blanket
of sleepy desire and vivid dreams.