revolution
revolution waits for the summer-time
when heat draws up from the burning
cement a torrid push forward an
ambulance gasp of breath up from the
ocean-side, tide clinging in salt sheets and
here all years record a similar echo, change
in tones and time but content all the same,
the same, revolution waits for the
open gates of july, prison-break the shoreline
hotels, the mottled midway music, the
show of lights erupting over the rivers that
lead their ancient way seaward and in the
mint-cold moon-heart of midnight, all over
this crackling static world summer calls up
endless discontent, endless show and suffer,
endless, endless,
summer is endless here