No One Expresses Themselves Better Than The Rain Poem by Bernard Henrie

All night stars fall across the rainy moon.
First Spica speeding and alcoholic. Leo Minor,
blond and autistic like me.

I hear them burning as they fall; disheveled
stars like a man hurrying to a second job.
The choked light glistens on horse statues
and taxis black as tuxedos.

A nightlong drizzle; I make thick coffee
hot as steam trains from red Mars.

Watching at the window I am like a surgeon
lighting a cigarette after losing a patient.
The night soft as foreign writing paper.
The night soft as oiled cloth.

With my father's fountain pen I write down
everything I remember.