demons (poem #27)

—Summer,   is in the high winds—

grapes and graves   pendulate

hopeless \  drained

swooping men into their elixir, 

women / bee-stung / swollen 

stolen

glances,

sanative—

venom/

what’s yesterday stays, 

an onset

of what the night brings—

sit here, sloppy and free

eat

drink

unfasten

run from your shadow, 

a beast of your pastselves bred to breed more of what mauls,

leave it to die.