A cool night amidst
the eye of a sweltering storm;
an ephemeral refuge from
the tormenting humidity
of late-summer.
August scorches the earth like
the rot-gut liquor swelling our livers,
like the molasses tar of
smoldering cigarettes decaying
our lungs.
Summertime: the dog days of madness,
of vice and pleasure,
of crowds of drunken women;
nights of booze and smoke
beneath the neon glow,
betwixt the billowing fog and
red and blue strobe lights
bouncing across dance floors.
Summertime:
an eclipse of heat and misery
now waning before us
in the cloudless night.
Waning,
beneath the stars,
all faded and dim
in the black sky;
their shadowy specks drowning
in the sea of city lights,
as we begin to slow,
as we begin to think,
as we begin to contemplate
our lives.
Under the stars,
we reflect.
The stars, suffocating beneath
the cloak, the artificial glow
of a tourist town,
smother
like our dreams.
Our dreams….
once bright and vibrant,
radiating as the gleaming sun,
now dying and hushed
as the pale glimmer of the moon;
drab and desolate,
only half-sparkle
from the corner of our eyes.
At summer’s close,
their dull flash again
catches our gaze,
reminding us
they are still there,
waiting,
marking time for
the cloak to lift
so they may again
burst in the night
like a phoenix
rising from the ashes…
…before summertime again
swallows us in her madness.