The Girth of July

The ivy against the brick is a towline,
and you are caught up mouth breathing
from a fool’s paradise.
There’s a hard stop to the daylight
and you realize another beer won’t improve it.
But you wish upon another round
knowing full well the finish:
you won’t.
A crumbling porch on a hot picnic day
holds a bored half-drunk man.
And why are august thoughts felled
for flat July now?
This is a boundary of the heart
(real measure about real muscle)
and a preventative for hardened arteries.
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