too
slow, too still, too bright and
frozen and
suburban and safe. the summer drags and the days don't pass, they only repeat. minivans move like
drugged donkeys, full of vacant eyed moms and stupid little children.
the air is full of the
trite causes of hippies and their broken record exhaltations, full of
dandelion seeds and glycerine spheres and dust blown up by the back and forth
cruising of pointless kids and pointless lives and nothing else to do. these people live here. they've always lived here. and before they put on masks and pretended to be
exciting but charades get tiring and the masks fell and perhaps
they dragged
sweaty lifeless knuckles across the warm porch
but stopped as soon and didn't pick them back up.
and won't until the slight
gold chill of fall rouses them
pulling them back to battle for supremacy
with
dumb college kids who storm the bars and the convenience stores and the malls and the
used book shops. who see them for what they are not, who don't know how summer passes like
a night in a fetid tomb and the locals get drowsy eyed and the
drifters go mad and all the breathless brilliance fades out,
a call girl the next morning revealed a two dollar whore.
the night goes
without sound, and the birds start up with dawn like a rerun of a sitcom where the variations are subtle and
the ending never changes. the phone rings with promise of the same conversation
again
again.
teeth forced together against the stillness, walk down a dirt road to an
air conditioned and filthy employment, push chairs, push buttons, fight back against
claustrophobia. glare at the ex-boyfriend, glare at the idiots in front of their idiot chat clients.
smoke.
smoke.
smoke.
fall will come and bustle and pop and force you to run from the
fires in leaves. you can go crazy in a summer - look at
sylvia plath. calm down, run away.. or scream out loud,
smash the windows, go on a killing spree. but don't let the
still summer wash you away.