Fireproof

Rain covers the tile like sheets of cellophane. The streets are fireproof tonight. Even the muggers are cowering in their holes. The street sweepers from above have done a bang-up job with their sub-orbital hoses, knocking loose the wine stains and clots of chewing gum. The streets are free to flow again. Hoarfrosty winter, subtle autumn and the thick summer, bookended by gold and grime, had all come and gone. This is winter in Oakland. This is astral tears on a dark black night. Single guttural yawn of liquid throughout the year. This desert world, blooming under the downpour that we despise. Rain glues the earth together into something thicker than blood or water. The inorganic chokes on life tonight.