A Few Degrees Of Heat Poem by James Mills
A Few Degrees Of Heat
A slope of rising road
gains on the pair of us -
forcing silence.
Dusty birds and drunken bees
seem dazzled and frustrated
in the grating heat.
Wings and feathers
weather the jagged day
in short bursts and slowly.
Our imaginations fail,
again, to summon cool times.
Summer aggravates.
Midges bite and die;
spent on your glistening skin.
Blisters bubble;
subcutaneous lakes of irritation
itching like the scumbled day.
This is burning, unsettling surrealism...it gets right down into my gut. I don't know meterless free-verse as well as I might, but this really does what a poem should.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/18/2024 4:35:35 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Very well done, James...but I don't know what scumbled means, either. I'm going straight to me dictionary. Raynette