Reflections on A Still Summer Day Without AC

I fan

myself

and it sounds like

violence

in my ear

 

Each puff

like your

sweaty breath

dripping with

rage and loathing

of some unknown thing

deep inside you

that you search for

deep inside me

 

Each angry stroke

more desperate

than the last

a razor-sharp shovel

boring ferociously

like you are trying to find

someone long dead



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