Drip, drip, drip
block by block
of cement & tar
puddled roads
wash away
emotional billboards
pry into the lives
of passerbys
You, who sits
smoking on the footpath
are under watch
but rain
has clogged
all that surveillance
and my head
is in my glovebox
hiding
from all
the world’s pain
all its sullied joy
fractioned
distilled
sent down
from the clouds.
A heathen poet 