Gray… greatest ceiling cover ever to shelter you, me, your brother, mother and grandmothers.
Fathers is running farther, anticipating the storming.
The precipitation atop the perspiration can remedy the burning…
Of lost love or love lost.
How many dictators and righteous men the same been gutted under the slate skies to even slates and battle plains?
Enough to pain.
I just know the sun is hidden, this fact is proven.
Until I call Ruben, a service member serving in Cali until September.
He said it’s right as rain.
Disconnecting mobile minutes in lieu of that last cool
-breeze that blows before the thunderous pellets drip-drop.
Sons die like drops drip for throwing sets and claiming crip.
More lay in red pools dueling over stripes and culture chips, for saying blood.
Gun on floor, face on deck, hog tied with pig legs prying weight on backs for carrying weight, the irony.
Rain falls and absolves whatever hate hasn’t dissolved,
Drains clog as it falls, First 48,
it won’t be solved.
Storm gauges everywhere will serve a purpose.
The bayous can’t hold this much pasta sauce, thicker than roux too.
As red as Texas is Houston feels so black.
I see cops and men that resemble their uniforms give dap.
Ponchos and gone-brellas kiting in the wind.