hard rain

i just remembered this morning in a flash of light as i walked down that little tunnel that takes you down to the subway that the other night in my drunken haze i stopped in the middle of the street and gave whatever change i could come up with to that boy with the flute---that boy that boy whom i saw once in a while by the stairs of the subway who has been weighing on my conscience more than anything i've ever known--that little boy with his litle fingers playing the notes crooked and unsuccesfully but god who cares--that little boy that makes me wish i was more of a believer

i even stroked his hair if i recall it correctly his little head and his little life and this morning as i looked around not believing what i had done and i started crying as i always do

"reality being too thorny for my lofty character"

says rimbaud