middle city format - too stubborn to die

thick summer sheets ride this middle-city tonight, beside churches sit tall crooked letters, those fat drops hit alsynite in smacks, i'm breathing deerfoofed. this cape-lilac wall. some sprayed easterly in gusts - our southern-tinted words, they state in typical command: dont change. a thing.

speed smokin up king william, colonel light street-walk rush, its 4.57 for a 5pm show, tuxedo cat at yr 2. manic 3rd floor stomp, seeking coopers without a rider, brow gleaming in stage light, in this deconstuctionist sweat, words drip. seven minutes in. time. stops. still.

slump. foothill city monuments, another overcast bitumen transition, at gate 14, we're lugging carry-on heavy-eye, brittle rundle omelettes, spinach-feta narratives, wincing in aviator gold - yesterday's pale green tales, almost masking that inner-suburban toxic hydrocity, skinned-up in thin joints. before the cab. before boarding.

back on western edges. in scorch. on driveway sunset, almost tangible thunderheads to the east, sheets of distant lightning. yet breathing is hard in this city now, a thick hot inhale, of tarmac and carpark heat-sink. we're stille pale green froth, seeking reasons not to live. here.