The heat is a memory trigger
looking back I figure
all those high temperatures
make a line in my mind
of sensory familiarity.

Sweat on my brow
soaking through
my receding hairline,
wet spots become
darker shades of
whatever color
shirt I am wearing.

No ac because I am
to cheap,
so I sleep
still sweating
with a box fan
pointed towards me.

A gallon of water to drink
and I ride dangerously
on my mountain bike
through countrysides
and city streets
listening to music
that pushes me
with its hastening beat.

Today the heat index
is a hundred and ten plus
very dangerous
to anybody else,
but I have no fear
I have been here
in the clear
summer swelter
for thirty-seven years
and it is kind of fun.

The sun is in her skin, but her heart belongs to rain
The storm is the only time when she can freely breathe again
Temperature is high
She would rather be without the heat
But without the sunlight
She could die
Without happiness and warmth
She would barely be alive

A moment cuffs you in the face
like Newton's overstated apple,
and the evening dissolves
into sharp, steady resolve...
You think about the extra drink you should have drunk,
the song you should have sung
and the man whose touch y so missed...

The Muse had disappeared.
**** Muse.

Every time you try to find news you want to *****,
not just a little, but expel the very core of emptiness out of you,
and you picked a fine time to stop swearing
because there is a man whose feel you have so **** missed...

The stars continue to twinkle across the Northern Sky,  
oblivious to the bouncing of our big Blue Ball,
un-answering dreamful wishes;
though, there are other stars lying closer to your heart,
a fresh start and the barbells below...  
And you realize
life is found in the letting go...

And the Muse reappears, smiles an aching, wondrous, Hello.