Wednesday, August 24, 2016

Daydreams of Night

The cars rush by
swish by,
sputter and roar by.

It's late August and the
songs are singing loud and distorted
and the nights are humid
but they still manage to last
through the stretch until morning.

The river runs warm
and it's not by our selves,
not by ourselves -
it's warm and I can't wait
to swim tonight with the balmy breeze
and the moon overhead
and somewhere else has to deal
with the hot sun of August.

But for now it's your problem;
3:03 in sweat and hot grime of a
dead heat afternoon
and the people
are boarding a bus two blocks over,
incinerator ash blows on the wind,
and you hear the stacato beat of a
helicopter's blades, searching
for someone to take down.

Burning daylight

The cars rush by,
whoosh by,
sputter and roar on by.


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