july, july!

cannot wait

for june to end. boy do things

go: they are unstoppable

& boy do they

pick up as they

catch the draft

beneath their wings.

dipping & eluding

the good (& bad). the crevices

explored are the

just cause of

ebullience in the air. at least

we can see (with the

assistance of a microscope)

the paw-prints of

post-marks &

wishing wells. things

go. they go far &

expand from the summer's

unrelenting & wistful

heat. they (with time) become

deft, basking in the

breeze (of a passing

garbage truck) uptown.

eventually we all find ourselves

brushing a group of pigeons

from their zone (predetermined

by the food vendors in the

proximity). we don't always mean to

but the birds are often

cumbersome & serve the

purpose of a street cone. flags down,

wings up, & the echo of

a nearby gunshot falls calmly on the

landing pads of chewed

ears.