THIRTEEN FRIDAYS

Awake the sun heat spirits
dance through glades of ghost
grass where the whispers
of the winds stir hairs
on napes of necks
and your Blazing disc discourage
noon ruckus in sweat
trickle runs between thoughts
thick and sticky

Swelter up the power grid
where hipsters sip pina coladas
and ribbon streamer conditioned
air slips into rooms

while fire hydrants spray kids in
cities where the rivers far
and the lakes not safe
cool active minds and bodies
in motion

and the interstates of glass
and paint streaking past forests
and feild The windows down
and feet on the dash
an arm brushed with hot air
a dog smiling in the turbulence

I am in the midst of cleaning
the archive boxes full of dreams
and pics a quarter life ago and'
further

the roads not taken

the heat wonderful in memory
when winter winds whip
the frigid chill

but for now
sweating basking in its
might

waiting for the stars
swirling in the humid
soup