summertime, when existence is taxing,
over-complication overcomes us
not unlike a heat wave.
is there something in the air?
did the spring snow melt
and turn to wine?
or maybe we're waking late,
drowsy from a hibernational state.
the summer, unforgiving epoch:
why did it come this time,
and not another cycle?
maybe noon is a sign
of our overheated little brains.