Summer Soup
Residue of the oceans is sitting in the fields.
Stagnation is in the air to what it yields.
Neptunian creatures crawl into the skin
and shed their tears up to a withstanding brim.
The air became saturated as the ocean’s took over
and moved onto the land with a briny odor,
spreading a liquid haze oe’r the quiet meadows
and up into the eyes of the watchful plateaus.
Blood is on the menu for an August appetite,
a mosquito’s paradise in the epicurean twilight.
A sumptuous feast as summer’s soup du jour
is the remedy for an empty stomach for a cure.
Hail to the ensuing October breeze
and the shivering of all the winter trees
and the annihilation of the August parasite
as the cold is all that’s left to bite.
