August builds up a nice wet bake. We soothe ourselves
with the death of civilization and price-reduced saltines.
This generation is suffering its own demise in the manner it has lived.
Heavy rains shook debris loose and is sending it down river
where it all goes: saltines, debris, civilizations, generations
all headed south into a pink sunset sky
pocked with pregnant clouds.
Tag Archives: August
it speaks in tongues
even the house believes
it’s forgotten the rain
those creaky leaky places
covered in dust / the
foundation near the water
shut off that patched spot
on the dining room ceiling
Lord the moan the back door makes
when a storm tease wind kicks up
it makes the dogs howl
& i don’t drink anymore
to drown out the opera
coffee it’s just not the same
is it / no / listening
to the scanner brings no comfort
as August whines & the house
remembering too late shakes
like it’s praying for a drought