these days

in the sun
there is the humming transformer
and the sound of traffic
to and fro,
there is hot pavement,
and there is cicada crying loudly in worship
to the sky for the gift of heat waves
and the possibility of furthering the species

this is a moment;
it is a hot black tar between the toes moment
lost in time,
to float away in the mind
and perhaps drift back again some day,
some day far and farther away

it is a shirtless, shorts wearing day;
an I-don’t-give-a-fuck kind of day
where the world is what happens in the background
and the immediate is simply breath and sweat

these days are too few;
stretched like gum from finger to lips
and close to breaking but not quite;

oh but to drown in these days;
to lay back beneath them
and stare at the rippled world beyond them
and never have to breathe again

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