revolution waits for the summer-time

when heat draws up from the burning

cement a torrid push forward an

ambulance gasp of breath up from the

ocean-side, tide clinging in salt sheets and

here all years record a similar echo, change

in tones and time but content all the same,

the same, revolution waits for the

open gates of july, prison-break the shoreline

hotels, the mottled midway music, the

show of lights erupting over the rivers that

lead their ancient way seaward and in the

mint-cold moon-heart of midnight, all over

this crackling static world summer calls up

endless discontent, endless show and suffer,

endless, endless,

summer is endless here