In the dog days,
I hear them howl.
Craving-
Clawing-
The sun melts their chains,
And they chase.
Yawning roads, balmy nights,
Charred and boiling- crackling days-
They pursue- insatiable, so starved,
Saliva pools of lust.
The scavenger hunt of America-
Annual consumption,
Of desire and release,
And humid air that only,
Pains you for more.
Grey sweat cities leering in the distance,
Growling at the lack of restraint-
Their immaculate walls are dripping,
Sluggishly, they’ll all spill down.
Sticking skin and mosquito bites,
Gnawed, pink and peeling underbelly,
Hidden from the covetous sun,
They will crawl out, drawn by the call-
Herds of summer apostates-
To where they let the babies cry,
To where they wouldn’t dare ask why,
Where it’s too oppressive for clothing,
And no one knows your name,
And everyone gathers your story,
With spiders scattering across the back of your brain,
Like oily feathers- titillating-
Leaving you itching and shaking your head,
And running- running- grinding the road-
Towards sanguine sunsets that will burn you,
Send you popping like a firework,
Across the sizzling pavement in the middle of nowhere,
In the gory, gooey core of America-
Irresistible, engrossing American summer-
Stripped, seraphic solstice,
This Beatified,
Beatnik
American
Fever