a muse moved through me
and i ignored the muse inside
it was no muse of Jeremiah, nor of fire
so the heavens of invention become the greenhouse effect
summer's been the red wasp whipped around crazy horrorshow fast
by defeated fan blades rocking shameful
it has skittered on cottage cheese ceiling
and careened past over-my-head tugging frightened eyes on reins
summer's been a chaos of wasps stinging at the same skin
as epinephrine pens inject reverse allergic strawberries
natural sugar naturally killing the pubescent loves of past summer
ane—a Thai woman who cleans and cooks for Tom—woke up drunk, cursing, decided Time for Barbeque so she put the puppy on the grill. The roommate upstairs cracked open his window, “What’s that awful smell?!” Jane—angry, laughing—“Burnt puppy.” “Are you insane, Jane?!” the roommate yells. Insane. Jane.
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