Too hot in this metropolis, too many people’s fatigue
Pouring out in sweaty bullets all dying on the ground
These sounds of summer accompanied weeks of grey cloud
And now… now I’m so hot I can’t sleep at night
Alongside busy roads as air oscillates from fans.
There’s no alighting this planetary oven in which I cook
Like a fat greasy sausage sweating out my energy
My empty belly accompanies my even emptier wallet
And my anger rages from pathetic starvation and relentless heat
My hands are slick with perspiration
My feet slip on the ancient retro wooden floors
My parched mouth and dried out spine ache with sleep deprivation
I have become a nighthawk
In a depressing Edward Hopper painting talking to phantoms
Stuck in crevices in the corners of my eyes talking nonsense
In rambling mumblings so incoherent I feel insane.
I long to live inside an icicle befriending arctic hares
Hopping through deep snow in confusing peninsulas
I’m close to crawling into the refrigerator and closing the door
I’ll rig the lightbulb to stay on so I can read books by Jack London
To cool myself down in this here prickly London Town
I want to jump from treacherous arctic crab boats
And swim in the freezing Bearing Sea
Just anything, anywhere away from this stifling British heat.
Nothing to do but sit in my pants and complain
About the unfairness of life, of how my sweating feet
Are making my shoes stink and my shirt sticks to back
Leaving wet Rorschach ink blots between my shoulders.
I feel the heat now I’m older, when I was a kid
The heat meant amazing summer days hunting sticklebacks
Down the stream where the bigger kids hung out
Smoking their joints away from the beady eyes of their parents.
And I’m staring, staring into the mirror at the burnt patches
Of receding hairlines on my aching head
Wondering if I’m brave enough to get into bed
Without waking up an uncomfortable mess
Sheets strewn around my feet kicking at the invisible heat
Maybe I’ll do as the Indians do and have a nice cup of tea.