before a storm
in the weight of summer
the winds would roll in
leaves showing
white bellies
like some beast
submitting
I'd peddle hard
pretend that
a force of nature
could match my speed
thinking that if I could
outrun the yellow
violent swollen
clouds
there wasn't
a goddamn thing
that would ever
touch me again
I keep a brass bowl of paperclips from a man that didn't want to even give all of it away but he had to because there was no use for anything like that anymore sometimes I stare at it and wonder if th
it's days like this with the sun blaring and the birds calling with mowers in the distance that I know I wasn't made for summer but I can't help feel the flickering neon lights of anticipation in the
There's a metal cup of coffee getting cold somewhere in a house where someone has forgotten that they even made it because the weight of living in this place and the amount of money owed has taken hol
