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Fill the cold, gray sky

with wet Spartan dance.


This is the world of rain!

Pressing soaked spring grass

with my pellets and plops.


Or in winter's cold weeping,

pelt the city streets  

with fit spits of wild wet.


Slither down windowpanes.

Find sidewalk coffee cups,

and bounce inside like a killer.


Slow this popinjay's walk,

that improvident, dry, jackass


Drench terra firma!


Justify my dark clouds,

bash the black mushrooms,

hit hard with soaking fists.


The rain world can’t be worked.

They can’t stop my sopping volley

of violent, screaming, Cloudspill.
































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