The Mezunian

Die Positivität ist das Opium des Volkes, aber der Spott ist das Opium der Verrückten

I Thirst for Autumnal Rain

I thirst for autumnal rain that tastes o’ English Breakfast Tea.

There was none, so I returned to my sand castle under the sea.

I returned tomorrow,

but they only had summer sunshine that tasted o’ Sunny D,

which was all right in itself, I s’pose.

But I still wanted that rain.

& then they said they had summer rain,

& I told them to stop being zany.

—Summer rain.

What kind o’ bullshit is that?—

I told the guy,

I told him, —Hey, I know what discus you’re throwing.

You’re trying to hoard all o’ the autumnal rain ‘way from me.

You think I don’t deserve autumnal rain,

think I’m not good ‘nough.

You all despise me,

Think I’m dirt.

OK.

I understand.

You’re probably right.

Goodbye—.

So I went home to brood in my shady gray chamber o’er how best to drown my head in the sink

when I heard a tink.

I went outside & there I found

rain blurring into white smoke gainst the gray clouds.

I opened my mouth to drown myself in its icy ichor

when it occurred to me that it didn’t taste as sweet as I’d originally inferred.

I sneezed, freezing.

I went back inside to ‘scape the jacket-breaking breeze

(seriously, the wind just grabbed my jacket & ripped it ‘part like a gorilla.

What the fuck?)

& as I brooded in my briny mood, it occurred to me,

that I could use winter snow that tastes like chocolate-chip mint ice cream.

Posted in Crazy, Poetry