Summer

And a summer walks in;
He's all but the scorn,
The scorching disdain of
The late night worker,
Drowning his sorrow,

Working a rage and flipping stones
At empty houses, haunted,
Till they are knocked down
To rubbish, and paid to be
Taken away.

The summer is here.
There't's bloody boiling
Away whatever is left,
Melting the tar,
Glaring through rear view mirrors-
Brighter than truck lights on a highway
At night, brighter than far away cities,
As bright as ever, as bright as May.

The stupid streets of the city,
They let their tongues out like strays,
And the dogs hide under the cars,
Till they're chased away from their slumber
By boys who find more use for stones
Than knocking down mangoes
In the house with shady tales.

The sea drives on, knocking back
The waste,  fighting the shores
On which foreigners played soldiers
Like children, breaking each other's
Holds, stealing non-existent thrones,
Knocking down churches,
History and a little bit more.

The burning is here,
Like a flaming education-
On life's cruelty through
Deprive and thirst
For smitten dreams,
Waiting to be polished
Till they shine like bloodied antique,
On which generations cut their fingers.

The summer is here,
And there are no songs on it.
The cool breeze no more walks,
And the bells continue to toll,
And the sweat wets the ropes of toil.