Summer with Burroughs


House of Heart

Remember the summer
we were obsessed with Burroughs?
Anything familiar like the sound of far off thunder
close enough to subdue the mad-paced hours.
Something  inciting,  a strike of lightning.
The scent of combustion ready to ignite.
Everything electric that made us come alive.
Our hearts caught between whale song and sigh,
spontaneous thunder and intermittent quiet.
you and I,  sporadic as a summer storm.

 

 

Leonid Afremov  “Rains Rustle”

 

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