Poetry, The Key in the Door and other poems

Rain

Syncopated rain

beats out messages in code

while I, uncomprehending, listen,

face pressed to the window

feeling the self-inflicted cold.

The rain now streams its

protest down the pane,

liquid icicles of insinuation.

Dyslexic fingers

trace the words down the glass

as the mind searches hopelessly

for meaning in watery hieroglyphics.

Easing now,

the tattooed message again

beats on my window brain