Friday, July 26, 2013

poem of the day 07.26.13

cold front

sixty-three degree morning
in july

which for new york city
feels like living in alaska

i go out
hungover on wine
and sick of stomach

but feel like gold
the minute the breeze hits me

watch the others go huddling by
in small coats

the dumb girls
in their sundresses in sandals
teeth chattering
almost crying

the old bat who barks at me
feels like winter out here!

all of these sour lumps of flesh
and waiting on the next ninety degree day

so that they
can sit indoors
with their air conditioners on

killing the earth

telling everyone
how beautiful it is


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