In summer's kind disgust
a wind gust of asshole allergens
I'm left choking on its weekend indiscretions
just a taste of a swimming sea of pollens I cannot consume

This may be the past
but it tastes like a future of misfortunes
so familiar, like a bad taste of of past reaction
so unset and overtired
readied for any motel town

A look up at the stars or down in my tea
I can read the dead leaves
and know where this might end
or these dreams might die
just remember I miss you my friend