it was hot.

It’s all sorts of hot, here.
The insides of my spectacles are fogging up and
I wanna write curse words on the glass.

But…

My fingers won’t fit behind the frames.
I would have wrote F U in one lens
And C then K in the other one.

clever stuff.

The sun is making my sweat sticky.
Not in a good sticky way.
In the “this dust is gonna cling to you all day”

sticky kind of way.

And I sorta see some black smudges at the edge of the field.

I'll bet they're buzzards.

Those things would eat me if it got the chance.
Well, they’d eat me if I was lying there dead.
Or dying and feeble.

Gross.

It’s too humid to be lying dead in a cornfield
Getting all eaten by vultures.
Too humid for me anyways,

The deer they’re eating doesn’t seem to mind.

I think it’s too dead to worry about the situation.
And I’m too sweaty to worry about the situation.
Fuck.

It’s Hot.