Summer Timed
Summer deals its first hand
no bluffing behind her eyes
depression heated to irritating comfortless
catching tunes upon the air
that haunt from summered pasts
the clink of ice on crystal
Mowers scream from close by
a yapped chorus bites the air
the haze lifting from cement
for a moment ripples reality
then a falling wind chills
with the burning shadows
of anything stopping the sun's stretch
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