Old Wet

Oh, the rain. It came again for days. Left without saying a word. But it didn't leave. Simple inversion statements. It didn't what it did forever; That's more realistic. The rain probably won't no and it probably did yes. Where the wet is all over but not as cold as some wet, it's not winter yet. Leaves are slippery and uglier than last week, but uglier is a judgment. Aren't judgments for summer when pristinery abounds and picking and choosing is oh so more apparent. Fall is a preparation for the buckledowngreyandwets. Weeks of day on end, wet, smollish. Made up words function less than poetic as the reader smugs and fishes for the camera. Almost real, it's fall; sensing razor edge slips and falls to come as seasons close. And things are unended without sufficiency or complicit doggery, most likely. All collegial.