Dog days, trickling in
The red hot tomatoes, turn saucy on the vine
Fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches
Laying out in the sun, wrinkling up to swell
The puffy feet of noon. They flip the butter
Scorching gold and drip off the sides

The only thing humming is the cicadas
droning water in the trees, crazy screams
Of tree bark, wishing they could whisper
a little softer, than a loud roar
The sound of madness, escaped lunatics
Leaving their straight jackets home

The Wisteria drilling deeper roots
to hit water down below the dredges
Of what's left beyond the limestone
Squeezing my porch posts into knots
As it digs in. Quinching

Tar heat rising, in roads of curve
Slinging hot, the snakes belly up
Making for the other side of Hades
Rolling like Flipper, not to fry
In the middle of the road frenzy

I live for the clink and clank
Of ice. Dreaming delirious lemon sugar
Days. Pulpy fiction floating topaz
By the gallon, I drink, rocking slowly
As to not stir up the dust into my
Liquid Summer, melting, into soon, the Fall