What Mysterious Event Unfolded on That Rainy Night?
The patter of little raindrops
bouncing off the pavement with fosbury flops
have made any chance of getting up early
an Olympic feat for high jump mockery.
I’m in a world of my own
and, at 2 am, I feel quite alone.
In a few hours, the real world will kick in
waking me up to an alarm clock siren WW3 ring.
Let time’s wheels turn backwards.
Let it rain as much as it likes.
Let wooden chairs clatter, made of woulds
and let rusty old penny farthings turn into evergreen bikes.




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