Heat stroke and sweating to death.
Hand in hand, perfectly manipulated into meaning.
Dew points up in the 70’s, pleasantly.
Rightly so, left on your own, you and the heat.
Touch is torture, laying not holding.
The AC unit is making itself comfortable crawling through your window, as if robots were best friends.
Robbing us of energy and currency.
As if you weren’t in love with a machine.
As if this machine wasn’t once a dream.
I know I can turn it on.
The thought turns me off.
There is no response only buzzing and spent fuel.
Solely on your own, not a soul to swap.
The devil is in the details and we are in his climate.
Smoking crack in the garage while a baby sleeps in a swing.
These are a few of my favorite things.
Extraordinarily out of the ordinary.
Still hot, not as hot as the shakes make it though.
She said she stopped she said, she doesn’t touch the stuff.
She shook as she thought.
Eyes vacant and withdrawn, stuck inside her head. In the middle of blackened flesh. She sleeps, yeah. She says.
What is the reason for so many witnesses and no response?
No one stepped forward.
What is the reason for all hope lost?
The heat got to my head, maybe blurry vision.
The temperature made me do it.
When a shower adds a few hours, when the sun devours.
Flowers flourish, weeds grow around them to be plucked.
Rooted and left on the cement to dry.
Clothing stuck to you like a pin, like they won’t just come off already.
Like wet paint.
The smell makes it worse.
Work for it.
Pulling and tugging, exhaustion of exhausted.
Only in a days time.
Tear it out like an alien form residing within.
But you can’t and you won’t.
You wish for this weather when on the horizon a snow storm transpires.
All these machines and no wires. All these components and no wires.
Nothing is connected.
The sun makes me tired.
Ancient people, wearing all leather everything walking through the dusted soil. Wind blowing. I wonder how they handled. The 40’s I wonder how people handled it then. Sweat shops, I wonder how people who worked in sweat shops did it. Documented testimonials seem few and far between. I don’t think many want to read on discomfort. The heat is getting to me even as I write.