I will do it again, in this swoop towards the sun. Another black sheathed summer, sleeved in canvas sweat and thick hats, every 90 degree noon blistered waxy eczema red in scorching bliss. There is something in it winding mummified through to fingers and throat while the other girls dance gypsy in white silk breeze. I spend my best suns baking in the black clay of dried rivers laid out to desert heats. No sandy scrubbing, torn hair, prayer, convulsive song I take out my method by kicking my coals to orange and gold until skin burns through shroud. Winter ices memory. Contrary, I coax out color. Fucshia, violet, rose. Antarctica is the secret city of the sun, where morning glory vines swing jungle to wild dragonflies for mutual capture. Summer peels, like a sandy-handed boy, [as though fruit were the tearing enemy], frustrated white-knuckled, and I am black, sleeved, shut. Is your boss reading your email? ....Probably Keep your messages private by using Lycos Mail. Sign up today at http://mail.lycos.com _______________________________________________ Five7Five mailing list [EMAIL PROTECTED] http://www.pairlist.net/mailman/listinfo/five7five
