Traveling Home on a Sunday

It's stupid cold,

Breezy, a dollar and

Fifty cents to borrow

A coat!-

Not California atmosphere-

The stars-shiny and white

Silhoutted in dark blues and greens-

Vacated-ushered into a room

With a large screen, now playing:

Dark Gray Cloud Infinity.

A threatening rain hides

It has its daggers out,

Blasts of thin pelting icycles

Of wet.

Will it get me like an assassin,

Assault me unexpectedly,

Or caress my hair first, then entangle me fully,

Or thunder in

Run over me

Meet my brand new shoes

And absorb them in ecstasy

And melt my poetry?