clouds arrive slowly
weeping rain on oily dirt
to plastic flowers
drops falling down hard
junkies fold into their tent
time does not matter
thunder does not strike
on the wheelchairs of the poor
i smile at myself
down town rain haikus
words less spoken
Gen X’er chronicles the art form of living in the Angelino metropolitan environment through poetry, creative writing, art, photography, and culture.
words less spoken 
Love the line “junkies fold into their tent” Great work!
(Also very happy to be reading your posts again.)
LikeLiked by 1 person
thank you friend 😊
LikeLiked by 1 person
awesome work, dear poet!
LikeLiked by 1 person
awesome work, dear poet!
LikeLiked by 1 person
thank you Poet xo
LikeLiked by 1 person
so welcome! xo
LikeLiked by 1 person