23 June 2021: Wednesday Prose Poem: solstice observations
Walking down Westmoreland — 1973
Air thick, hot, and dust-filled; like cotton-candy
being spun around me. I’m sticking to the pavement,
to the palm trees — senses going off, like water on a
transistor radio — nothing but static.
Eyes are filled with tears — windborne dirt or sorrow –
too hot to tell the difference.