The heat so peaked tonight
the moon can’t cool

a scum-mucked swimming
pool, or breeze

emerge to lift the frowsy
ruff of owls too hot

to hoot, (the mouse and brown
barn rat astute

enough to know to drop
and dash) while

on the bunched up,
corkscrewed sheets of cots

and slumped brass beds,
the fitful twist

and kink and plead to dream
a dream of air

as bitter cruel as winter
gale that scrapes and blows

and gusts the grate
to luff

the whitened ashes from the coal.

Poet Bio

What People are Saying

"I did not expect to fall in love with poetry. I just expected to recite and be done with it. After just sitting there and analyzing my poems, I realized that the stories told through these few words mean so much. I had to step out of myself and step into the author's shoes, and with that comes great work."
Kyla Rose Bates
2016 LA POL Champion