Jul/Aug 2003 Poetry

Before the Downpour

by Joseph Brunetti


Before the Downpour

As the sky caramelizes
into a slab
waiting to unfurl its gut,
I think I am
not of this world.
And at this hour,
when the atmosphere splits
open like a shin wound,
but darker, more gross,
I think of gutters
clogged with pressed leaves,
and raindrops crawling
on torn screens.

Climb out of this life.
Become a body stepping in
and out of other bodies.

I am pulling a chair to the window.
I am waiting for the weighty rain.


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