They plague me: thoughts

gnaw and gnash between my temples,

pleading for manifestation.

It’s hot, hot heat in here -

my grass is yellowed dead, dumb dog;

exhausted, my green collection of dead president’s portraits.

I sip afternoon tea.

I eat fermented cantaloupe,

Falsely intoxicating ecstasy.

I wait for a defenestration,

smiling.

8.27.08