White Heat, J.McNerney

White Heat
By Joan McNerney

This dry moment
we lay in sweat beds.
Limp flowers turned
into themselves.
Lightning scorches
skies with hot zigzags.
Will it ever rain, when
will cicadas be silent?
Memories of a white room
burning pains…shunts, stains.
A bottle bursts filling the
sidewalk with rancid beer.
Throat of bird
swollen, screaming.