POEM OF THE HOT WIND

It’s the dawn of the summer twilight
Hot, acrid wind blows in from the coast
Dark shapes form in the twilight night
Human beings awake, realise they’re toast
Skeleton fingers tighten their grip
No rhyme, no reason anymore
There never were

Night trip confirms the eternal summer
No cold wind from the east
No arctic gust from the north
Gleaming eyes empty stomachs zoom in
On piles of rotten corpses
Yes, it’s summer allright
And dead meat doesn’t last many hours

It is good to feel the wind
Against the naked body