the air doesn’t smell right
the colors at sunset
still burn summer
appreciate the respite
soak in the cool morning breeze
Tag Archives: August
Tell me again about the remade world
Late summer is a mind oscillating at fever pitch
Solace is a free bag of Idaho potatoes
Do not jump at shadows they are only here to watch
The mountains are calling but it rings the wrong number
Don’t trust an August cool down
That is almost a breath, wheezy machine. Between the run off of brutal rains we thin what garden tomatoes remain. This summer is a lingering fast forward: an uncovered VCR tape of memories. The lungs want to trust; anything to escape the sensation of drowning. Each day a fish is forced to grow legs a heart a steam engine smelling of diesel and life. These joints need appropriate crank grease. The skin is a bilge wall, keeping in the sweat. This day, a magnetic tape of dreams, brittle under the sun.