Death of the Snow Bird
In the summer the plants wither,
The sun burns the earth to ash;
Phoenix is on fire. The rest have fled North.
In the summer the town is full of rebels
Only the bars are full; only the prostitutes have money;
Marijuana clouds the starlit sky. The town is theirs.
In the summer I am in flames
The sun basks in our heat.
Sex in the day when no one will see.
In the summer the world dies
And we live as if we never will.