Synthetic Summers

I’m no longer satisfied

With synthetic summers

Produced by overhead lights

And car heating systems

Haste the day when my lungs

No longer feel the sharp stab

Of cold as I breath in

This already putrid 

Midwest American air

I desire the heavy weight

Of humid heat 

Crashing down on me

Melting my hardened spirit in

Devastating desert like starvation

I want to be parched

Scorched

Burned alive and revived

Not like the Phoenix 

But like the heat given off

From a campfire

Surrounded by the modern sages

At the expense of the souls

Of the trees who once shaded them

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