Thursday, July 21, 2011

The Heat

It falls on you like a pile of wood when you walk into the street. Women in the subway lift and knot the hair from their necks. Dark new continents appear on cotton shirts. Dogs mind the leash and can't sniff differences in the air. The deranged delight in it as common ground with the sane of the city who turn away from their cackling, too spent to tell them to shut up.

No comments:

Post a Comment