Summer night porch

The summer night porch swings its fist through the wind tunnel into my throat
I caught its wooden hands and they struck twice, telling me it was time to leave
Canes made from cane made from dirt made from aspartame
My hands bled in solitude though filled my cup with blackberries
The throne of gold I sat on makes my Dirty Silver Dance seem so 6 months ago
Even as I write this I see ants crawling up my leg and the pendulum drawing back for another jab
Sit down and stare