Heaven's Waiting Room (Nights)

Evening in America are

shallow.

There's twenty minutes-

and it's night;

the deep night of Florida.

The (in)famous Southern night

that crashes in with

sticky bugs and crawling humidity,

and poor luminosity.

The water in the air almost

congealing into fog,

but not quite,

as these complementary elements

mix into discord.

It blurs the ends of the streetlamps

who try to resemble

the orange glow of sunset.

It settles on this part of

the world and drives us over the edge.

*

Men breather it in

and suddenly

the rum spiced with 100 degree heat

is poured

inescapably

into their maddened stomachs.

Women breathe it in

and suddenly they're

wearing their own naked skin

like a moist cotton.

*

I breathe it in and

suddenly I wake up in

your tendons, and there

is no blanket or covers...

but your torso is warmer

than baked bread,

and the orange streets are

turning monochrome

as our insanity

fades.