Swiftly run the rivers wrought from falling rain,
welling up are whirlpools that now spin.
I wish that it would go, and I’d be dry again;
or else—off to the loony bin.

A desert world we’re now without—gone are drought days…
brooks filled with drowned shopping carts.
I’m hoping that this won’t be a 40-days phase.
I’m sunk, blowing bubbles with farts.

Rain keeps on, saturating the air;
I cannot see a patch of dry land anywhere.
So I’ll glug another one until I am in a daze.

A drenching hurl right now pours out…I spout buffet,
and it won’t stop once it starts
I’m hoping that this won’t be a 40-days phase.
Guzzling so much does not show smarts.

These rainstorms are hellish: I wish they’d go;
if the sun shines, then the lawn I can mow.
I would even stop pounding down all those rounds of eau [de vie].

Swiftly run the rivulets of booze domain
welling up are whirlpools; my head spins.
I think I’d better slow down and be dry again
and hope to keep down my din-din.

The rivers wrought from fallin’ rain
strip the plaster, rip the rafters….