it is late June
there is no bell to ring
or song to be sung
so the silence is just heat
all the holidays passed and
broken in the heat.

it is late June
and i am dissociated in the
sunshine. they say that
this makes us human
but i am a drab recollection
of life and not a reality
all realities are
broken in the heat.

it is late June
and somewhere across
fourteenth and V we find
ourselves crying in tongues
and ******* ourselves
don't you know that's the proof
of a poet?

it is late June
i have yet to give up on you
but you are broken
in the heat.