The summer storms threaten

Every day about now, about 5,

Quitting time closing over the sky

Like a lazy eye dragging a headache behind

Hitched to its timid shawl.


And in the cataloging of wonder

What many loves might have been?

Prescriptions, banns a-wither on the vine,

The cracked corn drops like busted rosary beads,

Pinging off the ground so dry, drier still

It repels the thunderbursts.


The clouds stacking against themselves.

Bumped up against one another

As if they can’t get out of here fast enough

And often do before release

Like a man with breakfast already on his mind

One way or another whatnot and what have you

Never breaking the day

Never telling us what we have truly lost

But leaving that up to us.


The coolness comes from walking fast

While stepping softly, kicking up dust,

But you still can’t

Sneak up on yourself:


It’s a dream troubled by sleep.




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