Rain Race

I have a clear view from the rear seat of the rear window in our rearing rear wheel drive vehicle, of the rain drops racing one another to reach the right side of my face smearing oils on the cool inte(rear)or of the glass. If I open my mouth, flare my nostrils, widen my eyes, it looks as if right side up is sideway and if you turned me back side down, these droplets would be battling gravity to barrel into my open orifices, if you can follow. Fog flaming up from the flimsy framing of our vessel is slowly revealing carvings made God knows how long ago from nails scratching lord knows what for heaven knows why, but it does make me wonder.

Maybe the next girl huddled in the back corner on the next leg of this next generation band’s crusade will mold her contour into the profile mine will leave behind, a nexus revealed only in the same ill temperature induced tempered temperament as a ghost of this van’s past.

The sky is falling and rather than automating mechanical arms to assist in genocide of droplets hanging onto our windshield for dear life, I wish to collect them on my flesh where they might find a domicile to imbibe into. My pores are ripe for the taking and swallowing the clouds could only make my marinade more succulent when it’s my time to fall as well.

The loitering precipitations must feel so exposed, unless they’re the exhibitionists, naked to the naked eye, dropping in to proudly drape us in their nudity, pressed shamelessly against our only openings to the outside. Look at them in all of their glory, taunting us to lay unlayered and flay our feathers to be pervaded by the ponds brimming above us. Perhaps it’s other worldly bodies dipping into watery atmospheric bodies, spilling excess onto us simpletons soaking in the impression that it’s the ethers showering on us when deities chuckle that our purpose is to just be the unclogged drain of the galaxies.

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