The days of blue rain are upon us they bring tears of sadness and the artifice of joy the thunder has shaken the drops loose from the clouds and the lightning has split the tiny hairs on a child’s neck in two the world has rolled over in black hatred and we are drowning in the beautiful blue rain the globules are cool and hot at the same time like white-hot snowflakes cinching the rooftops they run smooth along the edge of salacious minds and gather in a pool of entanglement at the bottom it is the voice of ecstasy and the final words of death giving their last discours It is forgiveness carved out from the word disaster It is the savior and the sinner hiding in the shadow of Kodachrome and a little boy kneeling at a pine box counting the grains It is that illusion riding a white horse into nowhere and we are the observers staring from the basement window while the blue rain squeeze through tiny cracks in the tattered red bricks It is unstoppable and it is quiet like a moth flickering by a dim street light there is life and there is death in every drop and we are nothing more but the victim and the victor of the beautiful blue rain.. ζ Ken Riccio original poems ©