A fingernail thick monocle
was found by someone swimming
drunk in some old fountain
on the other side of town.
A kind of happenstance
that wouldn’t get its word around.
I was there though
inhaling rain vapor off the surface
of the city when I saw her jump in
almost out of boredom.
As if the thunder in the distance
was the only thing for miles
getting anywhere.
Out in that intersection, underneath
the traffic light short circuits,
heavy handed answers were resorted to.
Just as the moon took on it’s ordinary
shade of blue, and settled in as driver
of the night.
In one more sacred sight,
the rain became pure salt
and fell like snowflakes.
Teleporting Typewriter 