another swampy day on tap--

with air so thick I could die

and remain upright--

the height of the light is passing

but the full heat blasts

and I think whoever dreamed up Hell

slept fitfully through a day

as hot as this one...

*

no dreams here--

empty thoughts emptying out

of an empty skull

and the reason for my being

in this predicament

forgotten by me--

so this is what the end of life

feels like to one who cannot dream

who cannot sleep in merciless heat

who cannot know anything but his present hell--

*

a mirror

occupies

the center of

the hottest circle of hell--

while

the center of

the deepest part of hell

is bitter cold

and a shade

would form on the sheen

as it wiped away frost

and stared at itself

in the ice--

each extreme the measure

of some transgression--

ever one's own self

is cause for its own fatality...

Content (c) 2008-2011 Philip Milito.