‘ hittegolf “

The ground is granularily hot today
swelters in dust against a tarry torpid sky
Rotting rivulets of wind sweep across the orange, oblong
wooden slats of light clatter against the sweating doorways

Tractors idle, engines groan in the harrowing heat
faceless in massless seas of wheat
An ironic discoupling.

The barkeep sleeps, the cockerel croaks for a younger celsius.

Amongst encrusting coals of day,
dogs bark, lacking rhyme, but their reasons are understandable
and fixable with bored bullets.
Lone shots stray the heavy silence of noon.

The farmer watches the match head slice
that infinitesimal area of matter around it,
bubbling when sparked,
Flames licking tobacco barrels.

Sweat trickles from spouts in lazy puddles,
Will the eggs boil before birds, or birds before eggs?
drop matter. Thought is the burning sensation of smoke
filling the mind with granulated migraines.

Heavy is the head that handles the heat
with the breaking of dry sticks and bucolic flies
A blistering sonata of one hundred degrees,

a relieving faint by the cracked and cementing wall.

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