rainy day (with poetry)

cold rapid hands
draw back one by one
the bandages of dark
I open my eyes
still
I am living
at the center
of a wound still fresh

Octavio Paz said it, but man, I sure am feelin' it. Something about rainy weekends brings out the worst in me...the grayness of the long dim day, unbroken by society or accomplishment, has a way of highlighting my losses, making all the little pains and failures of the past year feel raw and new again. I'm sure I'll feel better tomorrow, but what to do until then? Wallow in the grim sympathetic fallacy of the weather? Or get off my duff and do something productive? Stay tuned...but right now all the smart money is on wallow.