Summers just stifle
then they drift off into winters
and the difference ain't so great
     anymore anyway.
And when another year passes
out its half-sketched glances,
missed chances dry out in the corners of eyes

And it's a day for waking
                           late
A season paid
                          off
pitched to poets
Hours served up to opponents--
Parched or freezing--
     **** it
when you're all dried out and heaving,
lost on Olive, barely breathing,
sprint straight out of Hell and nick some whiskey.
Then complete the cold walk home.