It’s too hot outside for what feels like forever,
I resent it because even though I don’t know it is,
I feel it is, a signal that no matter if I tidy up, brush my teeth
and put beer stained t-shirts in the hamper

the sun will swell and gobble up my effort
absorbing freshly vacuumed floors into an inconcievable inferno.  

But God, it’s the sun.
What’s a pile of ***** dishes to solar fire, He whose wrath I feel a billion miles away.
God, infinite infinities of distance but I’m sweating in the time it takes to find my car in this Godforsaken parking lot. God there is nothing worse than parking lots. I’ve never been pleased to spend a moment more than I expected in a parking lot.

Every blacktop another ****** unbearable embassy of hell - a boring, baking sunscape.

Each and every one an anti-oasis of indifference and privation.