Here at our rooftop, collegiate, ‘resort of the mind,’
an early heatwave has struck - we’ve been advised.
Like we needed it. It’s 94°f and climbing - we’re not insensitive.
We’re aware that the sun is bright and the air is crisp and hot.
It was Friday morning, until the sun pointed to noon.

Nothing’s going to stop the summer swelter except thunder storms - which are on their way - we’ve been advised.
A seasonable tempest is being piped-up from the sea.
Like we needed it. We can see the far horizon’s shadowed billows and curtains of rain - we feel the changing wind.

But we have every reason to be cheery, forewarned as we are,
here at the pool, in the still needed shade, armed with margaritas.
The weather may change, the season alter, but we will, unaltered, remain.

We seem to have captured a moment of buz. People are swinging-by, dropping-in, bringing drinks and party snacks then lurking by the pool.

Fridays are 'sui generis'—magical—because they play tricks with time. Dreary weekday landscapes seem to transform, as the old week wanes and ‘the pert and nimble spirit of mirth awakens.’
(A purposeful Shakespeare misquote).
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Songs for this:
Heat Wave by Linda Ronstadt
Heatwave by Bronski Beat
Heat wave - Bing Crosby

water shines like dreams that mystify their depth
in nights without moon by the sea the solitude of breath is even stronger
a savage sea feeds on the memory of light, but only the sand carries its age
its black heart rumbles a white rage
a watery path their dreams, they travelled by sea or the surface of time
they envisioned us perhaps
in the randomness of waves

the breaking edge of waves consumes me
wind, sand, water, light meet
in the love story of a time
surfing its waves

Tingly skies full of surprise oh how I love when with surmise
the little rascal aims his dart as if it were, poetic art !

Cupid found me and turned me into mush
when he walks by I suddenly begin to blush !
Cupid has my number and when he rings my bell
I feel all sugar coated, dipped in love's pell-mell

Cupid God of desire sets his darts on fire
toasting hearts and filling them with great desire
Cupid loves to match us heart to heart  
fitting us together we will never part  

Cupid isn't stupid in fact he's very smart
he loves people and calls everyone,  "sweetheart"
Cupid knows his arrows are extra-extra hot  
and when it comes to love, he always hits the spot.    

When cupid's arrow aims for you, there isn't much that you can do !

When a detective falls in love, he does not know who to bill for expenses--
everything is up in the air.

At a mixer for suspects, he invites me to dance via loudspeaker.
Radiant in my white dress, I resemble a snowy owl
even down to my carefully bandaged hand which he takes without hesitation.
I whisper in his ear:

I am Leon Czolgosz.
Your heart is the President of the United States of America.
We are dancing in Buffalo, city by the Niagara.
My detective, of course, falls hard.

The next time we meet, I wait for him in the bullpen at the police station.
They know him there.
They hire cellists.
He confesses his deepest fantasy to me:

I want to speak words of love to you
via telephone
with our hands naked and separated only by the safety glass.
I want the call recorded
and broadcast to wild lovers around the globe.

Shortly after, we are married. I wear my favorite bearskin robe.
My small black cubs frolic nearby,
climbing the pews and then tumbling gaily down again.
My detective is resplendent in his tuxedo.
The hired band plays Funiculi Funicula.
I snarl when my detective gets too close to the cubs, and this inflames him.

At last, we lie in bed together, like busy machines come to rest.
I am wearing nothing but the revolver-shaped earrings he has given me.
My detective wears a felt fedora
and a look of smug adoration like a daredevil over the falls in a barrel.
I am The Queen of the Mist,
suspected in various thieveries, check kiting, and jaywalking.

Our love is an aviary
where birds wheel above the thundering water like intelligent confetti.
Look in your mailbox, I tell my detective.
I have left you a valentine and an Easter egg.
He asks if, after all, I am his mystery client.
I enter a plea of innocent.
My love is happy now, laughing.

Shark Week plays on every screen
in the hothouse tavern; the barkeep

wears a Jaws t-shirt and doesn't miss
a single shouted order tho she stares

at silvered flanks grayly gliding
by the man in the cage.

He points his camera at hunks
of blooded gristle-head that lure

the black gape. Hey, says Tom
at the right terminus of the bar,

it's like my wedding photos.
His friends laugh, no one else

is quite sure how funny it was.
The diver doesn't flinch even

when the bars are tusked in
by hunger's muscle; I marvel

& consider that this is a proper
attitude toward death, even if

a touch more Hemingway than
I might normally prefer.

When I exit into wet-wire dusk,
an almost-green marine evening,

I think of how eagerly we anticipate
the remorseless teeth that make

no distinction between us and the bait
we lay in our endless desire to know.

All seems different,
like a blurry landscape
with vanishing maps.
The distance from the past
keeps growing.
I slice through space and time,
on the chosen path,
along a trajectory of circumstances.
Against the denial of access,
against the gate closing,
just to hold together what was apart.

When I’m not tapped into a music stream.

I like quiet
no - let’s be exact,
I like silence
ear plugs in - deafening quiet
or better yet, noise cancelled anti-sound
That’s relatively new technology
My mom mentioned new studies suggest it may rewire things
gray matter wise, you know, behind the eyes
like the patterns sound forms in sand.

But if you’re going to scramble my mind
your going to have to wait in line behind
bland 21-year-old issues like:
sleep deprivation
hormonal fluctuations
romantic fog
case study competitions
business model design games (REALGAME)
deductive logic puzzles
irritability and mood swings
mental bandwidth anxiety
cognitive confusion
information overload
assignment stress
premenstrual syndrome
compulsive coping mechanisms
career anxiety
****** frustration
multitasking shifts (schedule)
canon events (existential dilemmas)
culture shock (new environment)
feeling “scrambled”
family pressures

So, yeah. let’s fn Jettison headphone worries - MOM - shall we??!
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Right Now by The Creatures
A Girl In Trouble (Is a Temporary Thing) by Romeo Void
Your Turn to Run by Malaria!

Bootleg ***** in America has gone by many nicknames, from Blue Ruin, Moonshine, Mountain Dew, Coffin Varnish, Old Be Joyful, White Lightning, Rotgut, Popskull...


Queens and fathers, merchants and poets -
all seek appointments with Dr. Popskull,

when these days brim with fresh anxieties
that won't stop piling atop last nerves;

when sunrises now sizzle, haywire,
bringing bills and bad news, too soon by half;

even the weeks and months are mouthy,
won't shut up with their stubborn griefs.

Blue ruin brewing in the clawfoot tub -  
Old Be Joyful swigged sweet tot by tot -

bay *** blind in the corner store -  
Dr. Popskull fills prescriptions as fast

as dollars. Evening varnish vanishes -
happiness is borrowed from a future self.