[Hot]

Hot.

Too hot.

Delirium freely falls around my head,

Tuxedoed and awaiting recognition

Of how bizarre the night can be,

Roof falling down,

The sound of the lawnmowers

Outside the windows,

High-up, grass-cutting,

Swaying like fans

Or parroting particulars

Drowned in champagne.

The carnival has come to town,

The breeze is on vacation as

The hot work begins, wheeling

Round and round, stuck to the bed,

Watered into the ground by the

Endlessness repeating crashed-crushed

Ideas, the waiting of night upon night,

An expectant lie on the grass,

White at first, newly-mowed,

Shorn beneath its reasonable limits

And covering the hard brown earth.

Blurry, out of focus and unfeeling

Times, when the suns are this or that

And become the moons before we know

What time it is, before we can stretch across

To that person who was lying next to us

Only a second ago,

Finding only shorter grass,

A coloured strip made

By the lawnmower.