But then, long life, will you let me in?
And then, slow heart, are you gonna know him?
Summer makes me think of summers, summers.
Outside the air pants heavily of grease black nights. I walk and walk but can’t stay ahead of its slur, once conspiratorial, now lisping-- remember remember-- remember as if I could forget.I didn’t have any secrets when my mouth was opiate slack, they all spilled forth like so many scarabs, left a cough of sand and resin in their wake. I thought that my body was the only oasis even as I drenched its dried corpse with wine, to keep it from sloughing away.
Now my secrets are ants beneath a magnifying glass as heat congeals the day.