19 July 2011

July 19

a light is kept,
pressure cooked:
a sliver or
an edge of violence

syllables bubble:
a festive brew
of tired feelings,
true, sharp, but drunk
like the bees savoring
fermented apples from
swollen ground

this is summer:
an effigy of recalled births,
songs lodged in dizzy cells

we coax out something positive
and as it swerves, it stings whomever is nearest