(#7)
a dog night of heat
yet a clear scan of heavens
nourished universe
my mind untravels it all
sleep when I am depleted

(#8)
hot night
yet visible stars
busy creation
inspires thought
delays slumber

I always hated the scorching heat
Summer always brought
I could never escape it

The undesirable feeling
That came along
Was the kind of warmth

That was too warm
And uncomfortable
As the heat engulfed my body

In an embrace
I could not free myself from
Not allowing me to function

Travelling the span of my entire body
Like critters all over my skin
Leaving me soaked in sweat

You were the cool breeze
That pressed against my forehead
An angel passing through

In this free trial of hell
I don’t know if you’ll leave
Seconds after arrival

But I thank you
All the same
For the comfort you bring

At least
For a little while
I had a taste of heaven

the warm and tepid air fills the room
like a fog on a misty April morning
it’s 3 am and the feeling or weariness is gone
and replaced with longing and migraines
isolation and frustration
a blanket covers half my body
it’s just so ******* hot  
the summer heat has only just begun
and it’s not going away
not for a long time

a poem never writes itself,
but will guide us.
its sinister intent half-mechanical, as if by formula,
yet imbued with fresh shock
and sound. a word
settles on the bones
and then another--- another.
their emergence rings hollow
before unison and rings
loudly as a whole.
cascading rhythms,
parsed onto pen-pricked page,
gasping for more
and wanting less.

The man from the sea
Salty, wind-blown hair
Wood-worn hands from the ships
Eyes to see land along the horizon
Mouth to sing with the voices of the waves
Rocking, iron legs, made for the sea

The man from the trees
Tangled, leaf-filled hair
Calloused hands from climbing
Eyes to see disguises in the branches
Mouth to sing with the melody of the birds
Jumping, strong legs, made for the trees

The man from the sands
Sandy, sun-scorched hair
Nimble hands from the ropes and silky sand
Eyes to see amidst the light from the sun
Mouth to sing with the cat-calls of the burning winds
Moving, steady legs, made for the sands

The man from the grasses
Sweaty, sun-bleached hair
Paper-cut hands from weaving through the blades
Eyes to see danger amidst the weeds
Mouth to sing with the whispers of the rustling stalks
Skipping, quick legs, made for the grasses

The man from the river
Dripping, slicked-back hair
Smooth hands from the flowing water
Eyes to see fish amongst the rocks
Mouth to sing with the sound of flowing river
Slow-moving, quiet legs, made for the river

The man from the mountain
Thick, shadow-covered hair
Hard hands from the heavy stones
Eyes to see distantly from the mountaintop
Mouth to sing with the tumbling rocks
Trodding, stout legs, made for the mountain

The man from the ice
Frozen, ice-cold hair
Blue hands from the frostbite
Eyes to see places where the surface is thin
Mouth to sing with the crackling of the frozen ground
Tip-toeing, careful legs, made for the ice

I have felt its deadly kiss,
its grip seductive on my throat
Heat rising in my blood.

Danger creeping up my form,
no warning, never able
His attack is far too soon.

Fire and ferocious, he grows,
roars and snarls, demands to be heard
All thoughts of reason stolen.

Parting ways with all calm,
he chooses the violence of hate
Opens the doors to his demons,
and sends you to Lucifer's Gate.