Saturday, May 16, 2015

inhale the future blues

sticky bloating south Texas humidity
lungs twisting airless inside out
while waiting for the tornado to appear
heavy streams of sweat rivulet from every pore

air salty sharp with winged bug clouds
and Willie Brown kicking in his sleep
can’t sing the future, can’t sing the past
seems like every minute gonna be my last

society cares little, if any, for poets but there
is power in turning a noun into a verb that protects
the concentrated thought releases involved in
forgetting the sticky bloating south Texas humidity

and pretending the watery air drinks like wine
which explains the folks staggering all the time
free to share more than we know about ourselves
recording every breath twisting airless inside out

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