Tuesday, September 15, 2020

Humid

 Do me a favor,
says weather,
and carry this anvil
made of steam
around with you today:
okay?

Creeks flow 
off my skin,
turning shirts
into wetlands.

After work, napping
in feverish circumstances, 
I dream of alligators
belching thunder.

Humidity and feet,
I think, make for a fine
Stilton stink. With

sour thoughts, 
I wait for cloud-towers
to collapse into rain:
one wet defeats another. 


hans ostrom 2020

No comments: