Remember the summer we were
obsessed with Burroughs?
Anything familiar, like the sound of
close enough to subdue
our mad-paced hours.
like the scent of combustion,
a strike of lightning ready to ignite.
Everything electric made us come alive,
our hearts caught between whale song and sigh.
Intermittent quiet, spontaneous outbursts
sporadic as a summer storm.
Leonid Afremov “Rains Rustle”