| Jonathan Berger's Poetry: Poem of the Day |
| HOT It's hot here. Hot as your mother on a Saturday night. I mean it's steaming. Water rises like on a hard afternoon of fucking your mom on those soft satin sheets that she puts out when I come to stay. The sun is blazing like her chest after I've done that lick motion with my sandpaper tongue she so often begs for. The sun beats upon all of us rhythmically forcefully just like me on her last weekend. The sun, even while going down is still ejecting heat just like I do when she is going down. Do you hear what I’m saying? It’s HOT! The fires all around us on this hot day can be cooled by no air-conditioner can be calmed by no man-made source can only be alleviated by beloved mother nature and she – like your mom – is a bitch that CANNOT be sated. So we’ll just have to sit here you and me, son burning steaming sweating it out as we wait for night to fall and for relief to arrive. the pleasure that avails us. |