twinkling rains silently
and scrunches softly beneath the rubber soles of my feet.
the empty street, the icy sidewalk,
the musty, noisy bar,
and the commanding of the distant train,
all these pieces of the night, flowing in and out of each other
without boundary,
flutter down like feathers in tv static might,
absorbing, morphing into an eggshell around me.
and then i can't remember why i stopped feeling--
in order to let the world feel me, numb.
is this where i am going? is this where i stop being?
even the trees feel pain, but they are quiet.
and i can't remember the last time i was quiet,
when it could rain
and it didn't matter that i got wet
because then i could dry.