I grow fat in the summer night as
coffee stains stretch on
my taught white t-shirt.
With this
my mind grows lazy because
they wont’ let me read.
The books weigh down my shelves.
Splashing in puddles of light cast into the heavy summer darkness my mind dreams of birds in the August night but they never stay long enough.
They hang on the branch just long enough to show how they are freer than me.
1 comment:
"stains stretch on
my taught white t-shirt"
oh dear.
I would bet the ranch he was taught to say 'taut'.
if one enjoys the work of Raymond Chandler or of Carl Hiaasen, then it would be easy to say one would enjoy all their works.
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