Your secrets were always safe with me//Wasn't my fault people were smarter than you stupidly thought they'd be//Would it have been better, more clever, if they believed you were a werewolf?//However, you did have the claws that shot out and grabbed me//I'd never lay a hand on you how you would land on me//I could see it when you wore your fangs and raised your fist up to harm me//Werewolf//Instead you got in my face and twist my wrists//So close we could of kissed should of kissed but you were ****** that I wanted to coexist..
Your growling was a turn on but you were ******* me while scowling//Because how dare I please tease and ******* hourly then beg you for one pounding//Yeah, ******* is the best and you were ******* with the best but your kind of ******* was so ******* messed//And you made me feel like a used **** test.//Red wild eyes going to sleep and waking up//Had to have the green since you were just a little wolf pup//They ask you if you want another bowl-full you turn and bark YupYup.
And just so we can recap//You weren't always a monster//You were a gentleman when I first met you//For two months then I saw the real monster in you//You had me in your trap and then I saw that you were turning//You began to snap and then you were cracking and squirming//I found it disturbing//But I held on for months hoping that around you'd be turning.
But you only came back around when you were howling homeless like a stray//You cheated on me with her//Tried to kick me out to keep her//They ALL said that you'd been with HER//But your hustle couldn't make a ***** stay//She learned you always blew your pay//On the drugs and on the Obey//Discovered your secret then didn't give you the time of day//So she scampered off back to her ex//Lone wolf//But I took you back in//You saw I was less than thin//Like Hell you cared, you were wearing monster skin//You're a cold-hearted werewolf//With a sharp ****** grin.
I can name the one time when you came to my rescue//You were ******* with them other sheep and I was under their fescue//I don't know why you bothered to yank me up from the muck when at the end you took my head and smacked it down til it stuck//Got back up and had those sheep cooked for supper//Now they're on my side, in my insides//Now they're gone, I'm gone, and no one's left to hear you mutter//Your secrets were always safe with me//But now you are just a lone wolf.

RKT

Fescue fields in view
Electric neon butter *****
Scattered glowing beacons
Dot the greens and browns
Magnets for little hands
Tiny feet racing to keep up
Their laser focus
To pick and pick and pick
More and more and more
Fistfuls of joy
To tickle the nose
To share laughter
To put in a pocket
Then nap and forget


© 2019 MJL

Frolicking 'Gray's' across golden seas
of Dawn fescue , easing collective thoughts pining
for morningtide rescue
Wild Daises committed to the ever rising
July sunlight , iridescent Hummers circling the piedmont
furrows , tickled Crows burst into laughter in mid-flight
Cardinals and Chickadees relay their gift of self
High above the diamond studded hillside shelf* ....

As long as it doesn't affect me;
as long as it's not immediately relevant
and something I have to immediately worry about;
as long as it doesn't **** up
my credit score
or my
shiny
new
house
then,
**** it.

And
*******,
for bringing it to my attention.

how dare you.

this was promised to me,
it's predestined,
my two-story, three bedroom, two bath; the foreign workmanship and american artifice; the creamy halo of vinyl in the sun; the wrath of windexed windows and their hard missiles of bright, reflected sunlight; the soft lips of my children; my wife's pillowy, warm stomach and scratchy *****; our retriever that eats his own ****, picking apart tiny specks of feces from the sun-pricked tips of our rug of fescue; these are the works of God, this is the land of God. You are marring this flat earth

Sprinkles shower backyard fescue

Fighting against dry August air

Still days

Smiles cross aging cheeks

Love’s invasion flows upon

Discontent

Chest rises, bolstered anew

Expands with

Zest

Fieriness slithers away from

Heartbeats no longer on the prowl

Attachment

Cardinal chirps as if

Aware of a simmering fire,

Anticipations

Sprinkles immerse damp grass

Fighting against diminishing daylight

One more hurrah

Not being one, who was born with a green thumb, or one of any other colour
I’ve never had a yearning to plant, nor care for, any type of flora or fauna
But as good fortune would have it; I was blessed, with the mind of a scholar
Or at least that was my theorization; while under the influence of marijuana

This was a period of time, during which knowledge flowed; like a gushing river
Sadly each lesson learned, was in the end, not comprehended and thus lost
But I had this situational calling to earn a living, and so, had these seeds to deliver
To some Basmotical garden; which unfortunately, in my haste, I later tossed

Of course, this occurred during a time of immense erudition; under the influence
This did cause me to manifest myself, as some exceptionally tortured soul
Not realizing how my outer apparent confidence, hid my inner impudence
I, into this garden of good and evil; did so thoughtlessly, let myself stroll

As I entered, under this arching Gothic gate, I immediately sensed a certain presence
And as I walked, was instantly drawn to one side’s fescue; bordering on my path
I was unfazed by the pedestrian variety of growth; but savoured each sweet essence
And as each new scent infused my sensory cells; my nostrils flared in their aftermath

But then on the other side, odors that stung and burned; a forewarning of some kind
So I grasped at my proboscis and squeezed it; to prevent any further *******
Making me gasp for air through my mouth, infusing my throat; though so disinclined  
Then causing me to heave and cough, from the putrid smell; during its gestation

On this side, such flowers of exception did excel; and yet that dreadful smell
On that, so casual a bloom; brought no visual enjoyment, only exquisite perfume
On one, like burning flesh, a rancid smell; it made me gag and want, not there to dwell
On the other, scents that made the nostrils spume, with the pleasance of their plume

Then all at once a revelation; to my left, there exists all nature of exotic foliage
But from its growth, leaped out all manner of fowl stench and guttural malodour
Yet to my right, the umbels lay, with a menagerie of misguided, erroneous spoilage
Though the effervescence of its bouquet; permeated, perceptibly from its disorder

I felt an enticing ubiquity, but not the nature of this presence, to my left and right
So, meandered further down the trail; until at last, I felt this attraction from each force
Both from the left and right, each enticing me to leave the trail, and enter its delight
This did at last, dupe my brain to say, choose; in which direction, to which concourse

Such a variance, made me ponder the relevance of what I had just discovered
Did I sense but apparitions; or was this truly spirits, which must exist among us  
This good or evil that lay hidden on each side, thusly camouflaged or covered
And a novice such as I, knew nothing of their nature; or was it just the cannabis

But, before I could decide, a puissance did ****** my throat and cloistered all my air
Not able to breathe, I impulsively dropped the bag of seeds, which I still carried
And as the bag burst and the seeds spewed forth, I thought, I am without a prayer
****** to my hands and knees upon the path, craving air; my demise, somehow tarried

As I watched those seeds slowly bounce; there arose a stream of sweet pure nectar
Which sped its way to my nostrils; and so relieved that tight noose around my throat
As my asphyxiation lost control; my passing, no longer became an imminent specter
My breathe returned, unencumbered by a ****; this new purity, to now my life denote

Not, to the ease by which I can my life direct, with mere stimulants; to be content
But to look ahead and discern, what it is I see; on which side the good or evil exists
And to forever, let my conscious being preside; over any future occasional discontent
So that now, my concentration would be, on the essentials; of which my life consists

But yet those seeds, so strewn about the footpath; was it for me then, to them gather
Either take their discharge as a sign; if left alone, the wastage may, by itself be fruitful
Or should I harvest each as best I could, to repackage them; and would that matter  
Inasmuch, they were so scattered, I let them lay; to not salvage them, I erred as frugal

So, I left this garden of good and evil; not perplexed by its existence, but assured
That not with the use of some opiates, would my future progress be thusly led astray
But through the realization, that stability and restraint, come from what I have endured
And good or evil, comes from attributes of my character; that I’ve earned along the way

And so, a moral you may ask.....maybe two
Then I say yes; well of course you do

From such a visceral experience, to bring about this massive conscious newel
A meaning was ascertained; firstly, from my consignment, thence, from my deliverance
Don’t scatter your seeds aimlessly, or leave them lay fallow, on a bed sheet or a towel
And trying to discern, delights of good or evil, while high on drugs; is just pure nonsense  
BOEMS BY JA 399

I caught the kiss of the weekend

throwing my paper plane

into April’s surreal refuge

philosophizing from a tattered

hammock stitched of rainbow

legs let sway pendent

toes feather touch dusting

lapping as brush strokes

tickling blades of tender Fescue

where unruly plants

begin to heave

haloed vines at the Sun

tongue jutting from pucker

sprouting at lip’s edge

swift nimble fingers cavorting

under cumulonimbus explosions

origami romance slouched

geometric in the backyard

letting the symmetry of the mind

crease the leisure of the day

into colored paper

all of those delicate planes

all of my tiny moods

each an intelligence

spanning the spectrum

fashioned the moth to the flame

then unfurled came the Buzz

The Sprinter, The Stable

a Sea Glider in eight folds

the Hunting Flight of epic distance

then acrobatics of the Royal Wing

psychedelic parchment for The UFO

100% bond paper persisted

for the Eagle Eye and White Dove

enraptured in the moment

my mind came to insight

before the wind up and the pitch

before she can split the winds

I must know the sinews intimately

before she may bathe her

formation in the sky

spread wings and dance the distance

I must delve to atomic intricacies

search further like an arrow

to the soul of her dynamic

watch her parallels unfold

between Earth-measured aspects

and the indispensable

prism of her goddess shape

my hands began to weave

stories in foreign tongues

melodies I’ve never had the voice to sing

knuckles Mamboing sign language

in rhythms the Universe has yet to show

the dusk horizon eclipsed

by stars and a paper wish

blessed trajectory

through the tussled hush

that hugs the wilted pergola

a well-folded fantasy

hung up where the faded pinwheel

spins it’s humming silver

the season’s scents

standing in a prayer circle

amid ice cubes slumping

collapsing in mason jars

ales foaming in pint glasses

hugging the shifting night air

melting and mending with the metaphor

of God and the cacophony of frogs

these days finessed from fingertips

that lock hands with shapes

built by children

hideaways kissed with dreamers lips

folded secret love notes

tucked between privacy fences

there were said prayers

upon those movements

upon my lawn

unfolded suburban satori

hands bent to mudras

giving imagination’s cursive voice

and it went outward that day as such

a breath, a meditation, a spiritual gesture

Land of the free
Home of the brave
From sea to shining sea
In between golden waves

From the fields farmers plant
Across the vast Mid-West
In this Americana Panorama

Northern cities touching sky
Scrapers lighting up the night
As the Carolina shore
Echos back the oceans roar

Along the Texas plains
Where freedom loves to sing
In this Americana Panorama

With the Grand Canyons openness
To Alaska's wilderness
The mountains majesty
Powerful in its reach

In all the time that's spent
There's no other way to live
In this Americana Panorama

The colorful blue fescue
On a Kentucky afternoon
Under a Live Oak tree
With Spanish moss as company

To the California sunset
Being the last thing said
In this Americana Panorama

Through hazy , seasoned myopic eyes all the sights and sounds of woodland creatures do enchant and amaze !  Robins relay the message of my presence , White tailed deer barely render a nod and continue to graze ..
Fall Georgia skies painted by the renaissance artist , chilled zoysia and fescue cools the feet of the timid , skeptical albeit grateful introvert ..
Dirt roads pretend to run forever this morning , playful Sun hides like the gifted actress , behind gray blankets ! Resolute .. Cunning ..
White Pines bear witness to the active forest , Eastern gray squirrels signal impatiently , awaiting the call of Winter ..
Random thoughts collect like silver rainwater pools , virtual bastions of aquatic life that dot the landscape , olive brush strokes , red Maple swirls , prolific Water Oaks recall young boys in search of newts , mud puppies and tadpoles ..
Songbirds hide within briar thickets performing their daily song list for all that would give ear , rock bass and bream gorge on a bounty of white flies served by the morning breeze .. The pond is a looking glass today , sharing her piece of colorful sky for childlike imaginations such as mine , tiny frogs providing musical accompaniment with glorious song while Angelic host incessantly highlight her surface with gentle blue and green hues , soft tones ..

Sorghum Fall , October blue windfelt opera
of curious Winter tapping November's hardwood door
Days of colorful wishes falling to Earth
They meet in oakwood harbors , perform
in the crystal sunrise ballet , pie pans
ring in crabapple arbors , withered corn songs
crackle exquisitely , they echo o'er hayfield terrace ,
red , brown and golden forest
Hillandale , windballad allegories , butterscotch fields
suing for frosted cover
Warm cabin firewood symphonies , cider and cinnamon
Hereford morning bawl , early wren catcalls
Oak chair and fescue pillow* ....

Nutmeg firma , fractured window abstractions -
of quivering pools , of desire abating thirst
Life giver , abundant wavering ripples finding -
grassy shore , tinseled in gold , copper , bronze -
precious metals , beads of sweat traveling rippled flesh , every -
desperate breath filling life's circuitry till its
conclusive end
Foot trails laced in dandelion , purple wire ,
terra-cotta stone , marble and granite
The birth of monuments riddled o'er the fescue -
expression , Bluebird followers , curt winged
purveyors of decay , August clod bank rows , barbed -
wire orderly plats , distant wavers of unrelenting sun-glow facing -welcome centurion lodges

Love is a beautiful scene
She is each descriptive glance
Rainbows connecting mountains
Awe inspiring waterfalls
Clear fountains , the birth of Spring
in the month of May , the embattled flowers
of the Fall , purple wire grass shimmering
o'er Hill Country smoky malls
The flavor of salt , fescue and gardenia
Afternoons along Pink Dogwood , bristling
Magnolia hallways
From wooden porches as shadows grow tall with
the music of Angus cattle in the orange , growing
nightfall* ...

Refreshed beneath a rattling fan
The same white house from my
favorite window , the same old trees , the same old window reflecting the same old me
An east wind tells of someones supper a half mile away , red tips
and brown sugar fescue hypnotically sway , the same old trails on another slow moving Sunday* ..

10/7/2012

Horizon flooded with watercolor,
No sunset quite like another.
Croaking of frogs all around,
Drowning out other sounds,
Air gone still in preperation,
Wildlife rest in expectation.
The heat of day begins to die,
As the sun leaves the sky.
Shadows expand to cover all,
Darkness enjoys the day's fall.
Stars glow upon heaven's floor,
Oh, how many, so many more!
The moon appears, full and bright,
Come to watch us in the night.
Its warm presence lights the rock,
Keeps me steady as I walk.
Coyotes howl from distant hills,
Thrilling, giving ancient chills.
Owls will begin to call out soon,
Making me want to join their tune.
Finally at my destination,
I prepare to enhance my fascination.
Invigorating scent of fresh cut hay,
Keeps me awake as I lay,
Staring up to unfathomable height,
Respecting all the power and might,
Realize just how small we are,
Even compared to a distant star.
Events come back into perspective,
We are truly, truly subjective.
For hours, laying on my back,
Watching satellites as they track.
Loving the peace the darkness brings,
Forgetting about all other things.
I look to heaven, begin to pray,
Then rolling off my bale of hay,
Retrace my steps through the fescue,
Thanking the night for the rescue.

4/15/2013

It's been such a long time,
Since I held your hand in mine.
So many years have passed,
Since that night in the grass.

I remember it so clearly,
And I hold on to it dearly.
The beginning of the end,
The source of my heart to rend.

The silence of night remained unbroken,
As you handed me a token,
Something to remember you by,
As though you knew we had to fly.

The moon shone but just a sliver,
And though warm, I felt a shiver.
As our bare feet crossed the dirt,
To the beat of mother earth.

Beneath the stars our resting place,
Where we gazed up into space.
Where I whispered it for the first time,
Those few words to make you mine.

And in that instant my world changed,
When you whispered words the same.
My hand found yours and then our lips,
My heart and soul both doing flips.

I couldn't believe this was reality,
It seemed as though some fantasy.
Something like one of those dreams,
Where the details begin to burst through the seams.

But no, this could be no dream,
This was you and this was me.
The consumation of such a love,
The kind that only stories tell of.

For hours there we were happy,
Alone in the field as we could be.
Your head on my heart, the steady drum,
And I listened to yours, the timid one.

The gentle breeze caressed your scent,
As the clear skies denied a tent.
The thick fescue was soft as down,
Your jean shorts made the best night gown.

You fell asleep fingers in mine,
And I lay awake for the longest time.
Peaceful bliss, no doubts did spoil,
As I rested my head upon the soil.

It was the first, but not the last,
By far the best we spent in that grass.
I'll never forget, nor do I want to,
Because that is the night I knew that I loved you.

Now it has been such a long time,
Since I held your hand in mine.
I struggle to recall how your fingers felt,
And to remember how my heart would melt.

But now we smile when we pass by,
I know you remember it, under the sky.
Your friend told me you talk in your sleep,
Sometimes revealing a subconscious so deep.

She said your eyes, they filled with tears,
As you were attacked by regrets and fears.
Your whispered callings, revealing my name,
The sad teary silence, when I never came.

She said my picture is under your pillow,
It's the one of us both, under the willows.
What I couldn't say, I have it too,
Beside my bed, reminding of you.

I couldn't tell her, I wake up in a sweat,
Heaving and cold, with dreams of regret.
Couldn't say how my thoughts are ridden,
And my lonesomeness is all but hidden.

I know it was hard, believe me, I do.
For years now I've thought this through.
The plan we made, it was all I had,
Sometimes it kept me from going mad.

Four years seemed as though forever,
But not so long if it would bring us together.
I worked so hard, so many sacrifices,
Did everything possible with human devices.

Now the years have finally passed,
And so it seems, has the contrast.
Murphy's law has kept as apart,
Distance forever the bane of our hearts.

I just want you to know, I'll be where I promised.
I made the grades, I made the "A" list.
You did too, but circumstance kills,
You'll be in the flats while I'm in the hills.

You were right to hand me that token,
It hangs on my neck, still unbroken.
I have no plans to remove it soon,
I'll be wearing it when I fly to the moon.

I'll never forget you, and I hope you not I,
But I wish your dreams wouldn't make you cry.
So smile for me, though years have passed,
Tell me you remember that night in the grass.

Have no regrets, don't wish it away,
That it never happened, I'll never say.
I won't forget it, nor do I want to,
That is the night I knew that I loved you.

Land of the free
Home of the brave
From sea to shining sea
In between golden waves

From the fields farmers plant
Across the vast Mid-West
In this Americana Panorama

Northern cities touching sky
Scrapers lighting up the night
As the Carolina shore
Echos back the oceans roar

Along the Texas plains
Where freedom loves to sing
In this Americana Panorama

With the Grand Canyons openness
To Alaska's wilderness
The mountains majesty
Powerful in its reach

In all the time that's spent
There's no other way to live
In this Americana Panorama

The colorful blue fescue
On a Kentucky afternoon
Under a Live Oak tree
With Spanish moss as company

To the California sunset
Being the last thing said
In this Americana Panorama

Blue cover , incommunicado
Wiregrass incense , cool shadow
Nibbling a long bit of **** fescue
No fires that need tending , no friends to "rescue*"

Leaves, swift in the dreary of fall,
We watch as they sway and formerly stand tall,
Before the daylight anew crackles, now faint,
As the presence of October-cool seizes to taint,
And here in vigilance the leaves prey,
Fallen to the ground in an endless wind sway,
Their earthly romance once sweet and benevolent,
Now tarnished with rust and on the verge of malevolent;
And here alas, no more to depart,
They revel together in golden dreams, hopes nudged together on a new start -
Victim to the ground beneath which babbled in a restless wind spew,
Before their whispers edged silent, mumbles from few,
As all vocals diminished beneath the fret of night,
Unaligned thoughts that reviled with spite;
And here now the leaves have shriveled in hue,
For their green liveliness was once emboldened in the fescue -
Now hidden hereunder the mask of shrouded dirt,
Not but a word from the leaves former spurt.

Dew drops fell from leaf to leaf
In hopes of finding the storied sea
Falling with a dream of something better ...
Together , forever , wherever & whatever ...
Bigger , constant , urgent & quite clever ...
To grow old with tales of churning seas
Boggling young , maritime minds with --
thoughts of oak , pine & evergreen ...

Rainy day soldiers in groups of ten-
have overflowed the pond again
Hastily seeking the culvert to freedom ..
Bravely forsaking their watery kingdom..
Boarding rickety rafts of vegetable , tinsel , fescue , monkey-
grass & thistle ..
Leary , weary , fearless & fickle
They drill , patrol & preen ..
On a collard green leaf they chase-
the dream
Rafting uncertain , storm churned brooks-
& streams for a chance to mingle in-
nautical schemes ..

The dance of the vultures o'er frosted red clay ,smoke swirling in the timid valley , ominous vibes in the winter grass alley ....
In the Principality of the Pulpwood Stumps
A wounded , worried lover's psyche tortured
Misty rain , copious memory hound weathered men and brothers
Barking corporals , leathered skin , soggy dens ..                                     Nutcrackers form a line , stand tall , call cadence then break into attention
Tight , bright , impeccably sutured uniforms crackle in the biting breeze , adorned in silver clasp with pink marble buttons securing slingshot munitions ...
With cherry cheeks a bugler splits the silence
The soldiers load their roscoe's
Keepers of the Grass hurl sweet gum cones
high into the orange eve
Locust spears guard fescue forts and hillside -
tunnels
Cracked corn funneled into hollow onion stems
The November battlefield looms dark and silent-
as the autumn bulb dims ...
A spiffy locust then proclaims from a tall tree
War is finished for you and me ..
The pasture of our forefathers shall be -
divided in thirds
A share for every mammal , insect and bird ...

Fifth commandment breached regularly
epidemic of gun violence in America
bullets fly, scream and tear into flesh
senseless rampant mass killings
rip across fabric of society
buzzfeeding, jump/kickstarting,
paradigm of mortality.

Since January first
two thousand and twenty three
countless innocent people lost lives
deliberately, yet randomly targeted
shot dead at point blank range
merely going about
their ordinary business.

No clear cut motive nor profile
delineates active shooter(s),
who could be either (or any) gender
and range in age
from grade school to septuagenarian.

The latest homicides woo,
and appease the grim reaper,
where gunman(men)/women slew
***** deeds done dirt cheap
many baker's dozen innocent people
unknowingly and unwittingly drew
(rather gurgled) their last breath
choking on splintered blood vessels
beckoning, issuing, and twittering minimal
horrific animal primal gasps and groans.

Adversarial criminal minds
finds yours truly to interject
reasonable parenthetical rhyme without reason,
thus I temporarily tack tangentially offtrack
with cogent concise contemplation
to extemporize, lyricize, and soliloquize
brutal nasty senselessness
perpetrated courtesy fearsome
half cocked pistol packing maniacs,
whereby evils unrelentingly replaying nightmare
(exceeding cruelty by magnitudes administered

courtesy rocky horror picture show)
of gruesome carnage broadcast across
social media platforms
of killing fields anew,
in the minds of those unfortunate souls
who bear witness to deadly crime,
where odd stark juxtaposition
elicit skeletal goldenrods yellowed stalks
adrip with morning mountain dew
encompassing fresh footprints,
where berserk humans

prowling in the tall grass
(them of naked ape infamous
zoological niche) lately trod
in search of human prey
welcomed unsuspecting killer(s) true
colors transformed into hideous monsters
predictably soothing savage beasts
undertakers grisly task patching
shredded bodies after homicidal maniac
fired bullet(s) setting corpse
recalibrating counting queue.

As month one of new year
(according to Chinese tradition
water rabbit constitutes animal de jure)
allows, enables, and provides
brisk business for crematoriums
or funeral parlors.

Whether native American citizen
or foreigner (perchance student) slain
survivors bereave and issue final adieu,
whether gentile nor Jew,
perhaps including
child named Caillou
instantaneously slain, who
knew
not what felled them
engrossed amidst social ballyhoo

ex post facto registering grievous hue
pallbearers accentuating somber view
eclipsing most recent prior massacres
similar to previous you
ululations reverberate yesterday's sorrows
without handy dandy blue's clue
lame motive explaining
cold blooded slaughter
vis a vis unsurprising discover re:
firearms Jane/ John Q.

Public kept stashed loaded, deployed...
guns up the kazoo
cocked, gauged, primed...
for unleaded opportunity
to unleash barrage
invariable generating hullabaloo
to curb ****** violence
trumpeting predictable brew
ha ha alloyed against National
Rifle Association almighty

elephant in the room courtesy hathi howdah  
supported lobbyist's motley crew
(think three ring circus)
versus increased uproar
protesters chorus nearly few
tile opposition pitted grand Poobah
despite alarming statistics shew
plus increasing fresh gravesites dug
amidst freshly mowed fescue
attesting to wanton shell shocked
headlines indiscriminate brew

tilly assaulting sensibilities
without rhyme nor reason
yet, yours truly doth boo
leave rampant hatred
directly linkedin to
former "FAKE" commander in chief,
(biden his time as patient hunter)
whose acrid, horrid, rabid vitriol
still darkly colors political hue
man gushing ****** fountainhead few

ming and appreciable frothing
lathers up right wing supremacists
greenlighting smoldering new
bile radicals hot headed
volatile mindset whereby
self anointed anarchistic Guru
possibly fuels global warming
evidenced by displaced Inuits
flooding courtesy melting igloo.

The drought has made July linger.  The air smells of sewer *****, sweetgum, sassafras, fescue, concrete and asphalt.  

On this long summer day when the light and heat decide to linger— parents let their children play well into the night on the community’s green.  

Their laughter and the croaking of frogs in the rention pond, just beyond, overgrown with cattails,
has my dog thinking the sound of fireworks and wanting to go back home.  I see the flickerings of the early late night news peeping through the half-drawn curtains as we head back.  

I imagine the children dreaming dream after dream in the hot mist of sleep after the last door has shut.


In that moment I see the first lines of my new poem, full  of that living hurting nostalgia that everyone likes to star and comment on— a poem, that I imagine, might be found after my death by my executor.  It would be one of those critically disdained viral odes charming and popular enough to be embroidered on sofa pillows that comfort the aching backside of old widows. A poem with a hint of despair but not written in despair.   One that knows the substance of July summer nights.