Under this drizzle
Washing away my complains, my sadness
Under this drizzle
Cleansing the city’s soul
I find your soul near to mine
Like always was

Sneaking out of the heavy blanket of reason the city’s best souls look at us in expectation, awe, devotion, anger, criticism, envy and again in awful expectation
Sneaking out of my blessed monthly day of heavy sadness: oh that old never forgotten christic addiction to self sacrifice of mine!
I find my soul’s skin fine fresh and transparent again, awful about this grey drizzle
These sky’s tiny tears nourish my skin my hair my dirt, our abiding common view of birth, and purpose, and of those cosmic vastness where…
… later…

Los Angeles, January 13 2010