Friday, July 6, 2012

The Heat of Danger/Poetry

The Heat of Danger

The cats lay upon perches,
In the crawl, and treks-

And here they all lay,
Scattered like carcass bones,
B’neath the sun,
Oh, the sun so sodden,
As it drips its heat,
Squeezed like a rag,
To engulf us with it.

Here do we labor,
Here we’re toiling,
Away to nothing,
For the cats,
Know they’re languishing,
As they lay so, high-
Like little birds,
To be near a fan,
Spins of the flow,
May cool them,
In the night’s heat.

The cats lay like carcasses,
Their fur sagging low,
Skin melting from them . . .
Yet, it is daylight,
Not the terrible night.
Why when ’tis so bright,
Do demons, and picked,
Turned over animals,
Scavenged by the forsaken,
The lands of
Lost, forgotten devilry-
The spirits-

Why does the sun,
So hot . . .
It wrenches me like a vice!
Drags me, down low,
To endless suffering-

I watch the cats.
They sleep peacefully,
Like friends on that china cabinet-
But outside the sun blazes . . .
Hotter each day,
And for some reason,
All that I can see-
Are dead carcasses.

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