with the obdurate rain
clouds now parting
and the light drizzling down
like honey
from the sun
on the glazed city streets
which now glisten
like tongues,
that you too
would get sweetened, cleansed
of what's wrong.
But in truth, there's no
asylum in a world
that routs its flaws;
it's a dirtying feeling
when you sense
you don't belong.
