It was hot outside today
like the inside
oven oven
All the grass
on the moon
is black;
The beach is gray
like a cigarette
tray,
The mountains made
of ash, and
cracks
Will form
in the lunar
clay;
The ocean of snow will be
revealed;
I walked away
from the smoking
field
In search of neither friendship,
nor of lovin'
It was hot outside today
like the inside
oven oven
The bubbles shed their skins
In the penitence
bins,
Release their souls
into my
lungs,
The air is
hung
From the starry
sky,
satellites are buzzing,
trapped
In constellation spiderwebs
A thousand light years
wide
And the clouds are hanging
out to
dry
From the corpses of the bubbles
Shining up above'n
It was hot outside today
like the inside
oven oven
The smoke is ready for the harvest
The ashen snow
from the mountains
blow
Zacross a dusty
field;
The skin of time has peeled
back, revealing
Worm resorts;
We approached the court
of the thrift-store
royale
With mansions up our sleeves;
We drowned the face cards
in the river
The mountain range
collapsed into
the street;
Like a naked,
mannequin economy
in a broken storefront window,
Arms of rigor mortis
plastics
Reaching toward the heavens
On a deathbed made of treasure;
we have diagnosed
ourselves
With pleasure,
Corrosion of the spirit,
And cirrhosis of the coven;
It was hot outside today
like the inside
oven oven
©2024 Nathan Payne
