Death Rattles

because winter has yet to begin

Death Rattle by Benji Connell

a gentle rainstorm stammers outside of my window
the panes growing slick with the expectation of being washed
as if one night's shower can wipe away the grime 
left behind

passing, in time, the things we anxiously consider
washing and wrapping our selves in new and exciting paints and 
skins, colorful and shiny distractions to seem better
to be done

to be clean

to 
be 
pristine

when it remains to be seen if we were ever, once, perfect
white wooden frames set into the side of a home with purpose
looking out as they look in, knowingly, watching the world
while guarding what's inside

standing to the attentions of what was, once, within
the expectations fading and falling away with the rain
tiny, little deaths rattling in your bones like old acquaintances
pelting at the panes

until finally
you're alone