Anne Clark The Spiining Turning Of The Summer Earth
The spinning turning of the summer earth has strtched and wound the air into a tight blue band around it's swollen girth Dizzy and relentless the suffocated streets wind on and toil and soils gasp their quick and tiny breath Parched dry tongues scrape over reptile lips and every word we speak steams and crackles in the heat lizard still we perch upon the stones merging carved and curled this rough dry heat unfurls pervades the flash marrow that once waxed now wanes the bones High upon the sky the one unblinking eye pours down its slippery butter , yellow drops melting oily fire on our backs fingers without touch fell for relief and every move we make strains as if about to break something has to give
