it gets hard sometimes

wash warm sometimes warns like sunday sun burns through skin and takes us home (thoughless, we drop drawers and lay back), waitless, weightless.

so it's hot out, a sun like roasted skin we drive slow unsolemn through traffic streets opne windows air streams through hair blows crazy angles like alfalfa impressions.

and one more set of words to all of this, under the sun and in the wind: six months of twelve and fifteen hour days are coming.

2004-07-05 | 5:42 p.m.
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