rains fall
as if this town needs cleansing
as if a foul stench rises from its core

perhaps this is the reason for
these heaven-dropped tears:
to wash blood from the pining streets

murders are up, statistics say
race and rape demand attention again
drugs make cash while frying heads
the heat from guns bake more than bread
nearby the homeless rest in parks
while food spoils sitting on a shelf

this storm cries about this night
dropping hints
there's something odious in the land

but rain can't wash these stains down drains
the down-pours never scrub the human heart
soul-tears and hands-on
wash wounds marking the city's charts

*Night Drive

this gentleness

this steady

stream

of patience

a rest in

restlessness

that drives

toward dawn

through

unknowing

this 

drive

toward

this

-Jerry Schroeder, Cap.