It has been brutally hot all week. I wish there was an impending storm here in Rockford. Maybe this poem by A.g. Synclair will help seed the storm.
impending.storm.shit
I’ve never understood
this fascination with the sun
a gray sky is a like a friend
or
a beautiful woman
that fucks you with her beautiful darkness
and cums on you with words
but, then again
a beautiful woman can kill you
just like the sun
A.g. Synclair is an unapologetic pessimist, rule breaker, and rebel without a clue. When he isn't editing The Montucky Review and serving on the editorial staff of The Bookends Review, he is drinking from glasses that are perpetually half empty and hiding from the sun, which is clearly trying to kill him. Despite being extensively published around the globe, he flies under the radar. Deftly.
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