Rain at the window again, is tapping in morse code to this moorse day, signals I can barely decode even after so much living:

why is this woman willfully inviting death smoking?

why water(tears) attempts to take the shape of grief it can't ever fill?

Questions indicate that everything is a little off balance. Sons are doing in their moms: Soapranos style, in mid-winter. It must this heat someome just forgot to turn the knob to freeze, so anger spills and blazes.

All along the road a wall of flashing neon, drive-ins to drive into. Everything now is served at the window, time is money and on this road so is sex. We live in absurd times

A live drive-in nativity scene, (somewhere in the Arizona desert for just $4.99), a defunct drive-in funeral parlor here,(drop off your dead here for just $49.99): all these have become the ways we now live (few other reasons still remain: love and humid air).

The wiper oscillates: red had turned to green.