Forecast

It has been revealed:
I’ve been healed,
and it’s going to be a rainy day tomorrow.
My head will catch fire
in the belt buckle rain.
I have no way of disengaging
from this nightmare.
Hey, petunia brain! I want a refund.
I want a do over.
I want to start again.

Welcome to the buttery taste
of disillusionment.

“And now, each night I count the stars,
And each night I get the same number.
And when they will not come to be counted,
I count the holes they leave.

Nobody sings anymore.”

— Amiri Baraka / “Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note”