By  A. Estlin

roofs disappear under this rain falling like thin iron fences.
Through the shutters,
the world seems even more divided
into equal segments of reality.
It’s a world where drops don’t touch each other.

This landscape is a layer cake of
houses put together out of slices;
the windows – lines and grids.
The outer walls look shingled with equations &
harsh side gabled roofs are steep
like symbols for square roots.

It is the falling rain that’s dripping in divisions.
It is the world outside that flashes in exclusions.
I see it.

My drab eyes throb with this echo of patterns
while looking out, at rain. Instead,
I like the lump of dazzle, I must say,
the light of day that blinds us with confusion.

I crave of waves disrupted over me, in clots;
their tear – a riot, lawless.

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