Bucket's Drunken Swing, Or 2011 Comments

water's draping itself down the front of a window pane in winter, sounds like a full bucket taking drunken swings at the glass, with its solid transparency, known to have an extremely low viscosity the surface for the liquid to embrace against like a parisian woman standing in the metro stall;

a man sleeping, smiling, doing the silent slow struggle of blanket and bed, stuck between him the sheets. he's smiling and crying in his sleep. the window shudders under the affection of the thunder and the frame rattling. Incessantly buzzing, the sound waves and wind blown ones of mist make the small bedroom vibrate like a rubber band orchestra, and the man stretches on break between the sandwich-like repose of the mattress, and slinks into a parabola in the twisted cloth.
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