Do the Iguana

Move the window slightly left of the palm tree

rain         rain         rain         rain         rain

the rain has it’s own agenda (wind)

A quart of Corona Familiar to keep me warm
dark bronze glass against the dark gray sky

drizzle music

I have mailed off the last of the severed fingers
more rain falls there are blue sparks behind my eyes
my left knee creaks like a coffin lid

the window has it’s own agenda (rain)
palm tree swaying in the wind
this doesn’t explain anything I hope

piano in the mud (strings rusted an octave higher