From the archives – Purple Rain by Alex Stolis

Purple Rain

It’s pouring. It’s the dark bone chilling lonely
un-regal kind of rain. I want to believe in this

imaginary life. Where the bluest expectations
of the sky meet a honeyed sadness balanced

over the horizon. I remember knee scrapes on
Hennepin Ave, faint whiff of weed in her smile

when she kissed me. Oh man, the rain was neon
full color. It was salvation, sex, revolution falling

from on high. The thump thump thump of bass,
the staccato siren-whoop of reluctant cop cars

crawling through the crowd. They had no clue
we were drenched reborn; sanctified, immortal.

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