Friday, August 2, 2019

Dog Days

It's hot.

Here's a poem.


Here in the electric dusk your naked lover
tips the glass high and the ice cubes fall against her teeth.
It's beautiful Susan, her hair sticky with gin,
Our Lady of Wet Glass-Rings on the Album Cover,
streaming with hatred in the heat
as the record falls and the snake-band chords begin
to break like terrible news from the Rolling Stones,
and such a last light—full of spheres and zones.
              you're just an erotic hallucination,
just so much feverishly produced kazoo music,
are you serious?—this large oven impersonating night,
this exhaustion mutilated to resemble passion,
the bogus moon of tenderness and magic
you hold out to each prisoner like a cup of light?


  1. Sophie's gaze is intense looking into the Camera for this shot. It's Hot here too, 117, everything wilts in that intensity of a Desert Summer... I'm wilted.

  2. Wonderful poem.
    I love it when Sophie looks into the camera so intently. She's beautiful.
    Sorry, but it's been pretty much a perfect summer here. Only a few days in the 90's. Most of them mid 80's. It's unusual for Oregon. Come up here and walk through a cool forest - it will do you good.

  3. Love that photo of you both. "Her hair sticky with gin." Says everything, really.

  4. Fabulous! I love "so much feverishly produced kazoo music." That really IS August, in a nutshell.



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