Sunday Night forecast; September 2017

Human hearts hang from wires.
Weak knees sway and bend in strange winds
from abroad.

A man told me that Man is bankrupt.
He drove an old Porsche,
original upholstery, rebuilt engine,
passion-red paint now faded,
built in a land of autumn protracted.

Why do they prepare not for winter?

Travel guides for avenues lost
litter the shed of the huntsman,
fiery in youth, thirsty, far from the water.
Yet he knows a river frozen
was once a river flowing,
and the valleys shake with anticipation.

“Benzene! Benzene!”, the Merchant chants.
Some wait not for Spring. They bathe in gasoline,
some catch fire, worship flames, burn out,

but the heat unfreezes not the river.

Winter in Summer. Frostbite at sunrise.
Human hearts hang from wires,
Weak knees sway and bend in strange winds
from abroad.

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