Summers just stifle
then they drift off into winters
and the difference ain't so great
anymore anyway.
And when another year passes
out its half-sketched glances,
missed chances dry out in the corners of eyes
And it's a day for waking
late
A season paid
off
pitched to poets
Hours served up to opponents--
Parched or freezing--
fuck it
when you're all dried out and heaving,
lost on Olive, barely breathing,
sprint straight out of Hell and nick some whiskey.
Then complete the cold walk home.
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