The bird feeders are empty but it is much too hot to feed the birds. And the squirrels often steal the seed, which raises my blood pressure. So forget the birds. And forget immortality and the durability of art. I’d rather be cool right now than immortal tomorrow. All of the above is very clear to me. Everything else is a mess.
Harvey Shapiro, “Hot Summer”, A Momentary Glory: Last Poems (via zhugeliangs)







