When it's not icy cold in New York, it's raining. There are so rarely days of pleasant weather, or of pure sunshine ...
 |
| “Can’t Stop the Weather”, ©Jeff Glovsky |
In remembrance of some messy Marches, and other months of the year when it's not just winter in the U.S. northeast -- and in toast to St. Patrick's Day, when Erin goes braless and drunks will be pissing like New York skies -- I give you a little rain rant, from my ongoing (decades long) work in progress ...
It's said to rain a lot, Seattle. London is renowned, of course, its foggy, mossy climate ...
How come no one ever sees ugly New York for what it is, though?
It's a grey and pissing open wound! Forever dripping, drizzling like a swollen, leaky faucet. Let's give credit where it's due, now! Let's acknowledge that we rot here in our festering putrescence, in the scalding fetid moisture of our cemetery skies.
Let's hoist mighty, high, our rain guards as we slam through, past each other ... as we're snarling in our moldy streets. While cursing and drowning and suckling, and snarling ... While always hurry scurrying to our empty lives and nowhere beats ...
GUESS WHAT!? You're gonna die, you Suit! You pick out my eye with your sodden umbrella [... even make that aimless be-there poked with passion on your phone toy!]*
It matters nicht, 'cause we're all dead.
from Central Park
* * *
*original text (1993): "... even make that aimless be-there scrawled with Cross pens in your ledger!"
