brittle
stars
Straw, dry, bent.
dust kicks up,
a layer silts across bare feet.
cloudless sky, relentless
what can be done in this heat?
dirt forms crusts in your nostrils,
on your skin
~
<astrowarning>
when you dive into the middle of Leo, Saturn lurks at subtle levels of dignity; black gold, black rainbow, the reason why your mid-Leo friend is more like Eeyore than a Lion…
It’s Eeyore time, y’all.
</astrowarning>
~
what can be done in this heat?
~
dreams of hydration
~
the desire to dissolve
disappear under noon Sun,
overhead shadow, minuscule
just vanish, evaporate.
extricate.
~
summer’s drone, waterless
unless forced, managed,
leads to a barren state, an endless slog,
a rigidity
and this year, a rejection of that, too.
~
watch for snaps, twigs, pop of poppy sac,
work with dryness, work with drought, work alone
scrap it, too. compost and destroy, churn what’s not working.
rebel against your own ideas of ‘supposed to,’ or ‘should.’
or,
simply refuse.
~
You have until Sunday, August 10, 2025 at 1:59 am to be thoroughly ornery and obstinate, pedantic even!, with your projects; to endure the drone, or, to say a swift no before contemplating a slow yes that might not come anyway. No soup for you!
True dat.