hotter than hell and
humidity is evil.
warm, warmer,
how far will my
brain swell until it
seeps out of my nose?
i finish the trilogy,
part of the national dream
swept into shore by a
team of oceanographers,
scraping tar from
tongues, a livid blonde
screams for death
of government unless,
of course,
her family needs it.
August arrives on my back,
scorching my car
as it wheezes to the
finish line, a winner from
the Japanese response
to a dimmer view
hot dog Yankee
takeover for the top
one percent.
We keep it running, the engine
of wartime, keep it moving
forward and up-to-date,
regardless of logic
or need
or the blood of the
innocent,
heated and debated
between forgotten ideas and
ice cream sandwiches,
three times over,
sand and oil and our
swelling brains.
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