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NaPoWriMo #5: A Revision

A real re-vision, though — I’ve smashed together pieces of two other unfinished poems.  Not satisfied with the ending.  But more satisfied with what I’ve got now than what I had before.

Heat Wave
 
I’m stranded on August’s flat tar roof
with only a cheap, generic popsicle
and a relentless song stuck in my head:
Oh no not I, I will survive,
boring into my brain like a mole,
its insidious whiskers making me crazy.
 
These weeks creep by like sadistic turtles,
and summer puddles around my ankles.
I wish I could hurl a dart at the map of the world
and transport myself someplace Nordic and crisp,
but the best I can do is open the National Geographic,
ogle centerfolds of icebergs and oceans,
or press the cool, glossy pages to my forehead.
 
October is unimaginably distant –
like a language I once knew
and spoke fluently on a mythological continent
where the north wind tore confetti from the trees
and fallen apples softened, bruise by bruise,
and sunk down into mulchy scented paths.
 
I dream fragments of that lost city as I fester
between the fevered sheets
of this stalled-out summer.
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