So much to do, but the heat quells the spirit.
Loose ends to die, errands to run, calls to make, yet no desire
The sweat drips off my skin like wet paint.
dripping, down my back in long thin strokes,
I don't want to do anything today,
Maybe I will just sit here and write,
until the day, returns to night.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
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