with its myriads needles the sun’s tattooed
summer onto city’s skin
clothes sweat on the line
and rotten before growing ripe
the afternoon drops shadows, by nightfall
there are going to be storms
in single rows, motors and mountains
march towards the ocean shine
above a stall of sounds, the day
zooms away
whereas on the stuck trains below hang
the drowned of the damp
and summer is one more passenger,
fat and cumbersome
that pushes and shoves to resurface,
dripping, stinking, gasping for air.
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