it is now august.
i can feel it in my blood like hot water in a kettle.
can you hear the whistle?
a sign of pressure and urgency
so dim yet so intense.
its vibe taking up space
traveling selfishly along airwaves.
then growing
and spreading
the whistle.
yelling.
its pitch clenching the air.
the sweet august air
strangling the humid mess
until rain falls from
baby clouds filled with emotion.
the kettle shakes and quivers.
and then boiling over.
left unattended
hot water everywhere.
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