summer don’t know me

they call them urban canyons, the they that call things what they’re called. canyons

are actually towers of steel that’ll squeeze you until you’re sweating thru white. you

being both summer & another he that does not know me. by the time i’m thru i’m

seatbound across a bladejuggler ordering & knowing about me & ordering two more

rounds. my relatives cleaned spittoons so that i could sit here drink wine unable to

move & probably die. it’s so fucking hot the blades feel good on the back of my calf by

the time your foot gets there. your foot being a flag of white instead of the insides-

color pink the way it was last week. if i’m leaking so hard for the blades to know what

things i did it must be all out in the open now. let’s take turns on those thoughts before

they come. i’ll start: i had no idea i could stop a 17-thousand horsepower locomotive

by simply wearing red.

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