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.
Love the line “junkies fold into their tent” Great work!
(Also very happy to be reading your posts again.)
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thank you friend 😊
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awesome work, dear poet!
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awesome work, dear poet!
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thank you Poet xo
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so welcome! xo
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