Looms the midday, hot and bleak
Infiltrating head and feet.
Febrile notions, lying weak
Evil potions, bittersweet –
Sipping slowly, trusting fate.
Long the night wind, cold and dry.
Eyeballs tearing, dull impact.
Mouth erupting, silent cry.
Oily essence, sharp extract.
No more squeezing, empty zest –
Slipping slowly, losing faith.
Copyright © 2016 by Mitchell Allen