Wednesday, July 30, 2008


salt sun, dry eye
slips of paper, nylon straps
flapping from the clothesline
over the hill of red ants

mustard hills, cerulean sky
carresses the possessive
wind which laps
the last drop of water
from the breaking-down
bottle buried in
the sand to
the left of the shed

Three o'clock
swells bruised and violet
as lightening rises
from the aqueduct
to bloody the shining beam
of sunlight

water phantoms
chase around the yard
drowning the anthills
dousing the denim
on the line and

at 3:15
the sun splits the cloud
with a roundhouse
imprisming herself

my clothes dry quickly
in the spectrum


Zoro said...

Says it like it is Jen kind of makes your back yard look sepia.


La Sirena said...

Old back yard, sometimes sepia and sometimes technicolor -- that wasn't an actual photo tho but one I found online that was a fairly decent reckoning of monsoons I have known.

Pelmo said...

You working for a brewery?

I had to down a six pack, I was so parched after reading the first few lines.

La Sirena said...

Yes, I work for a brewery. That's why there are so many bowls of cyber pretzels on the virtual bar!