Raindrops Mingle
Raindrops mingle
on my windowsill
like bacteria
in a petri dish,
squirming
as they almost streak
downward though
captured
in the morning's
frosted template.
The denucleated drops
fuse in the sunlight,
glare giving them
the glow of
a compact disc's
flipside—
what data does it
convey as it plays
the song that
drenched clouds sing?
What life
soaks outside my
blinds—the collapse
and valence of
every molecule
I've forgotten?
The residue left
from the dissolute
codex of civilization?
Its cryptic tracings?
I watch the rain
tap, tap, tap
as if they were
fingertips
on a keyboard,
typing the
metasyntactic
variables that
serve as placeholders
for personal meaning.
Does the water
pour on the glass
to be my
narrative lorem ipsum?
Do these shallow streams
cool the glass
as a MacGuffin
to distract my attention
as I attempt
to torrent a soul?
Raindrops mingle
on my windowsill.
The sky is muddled,
grey, vacant
of expression
while the burnt
coffee doldrums
pass by,
and I'm bleary-eyed
watching a blur wash.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Added by Poetry Lover
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