The buildings ripple
like pool tiles,
cupping
a cool drink just out of reach
in the sky.
In the heat of July,
I hallucinate water.
The strawlike wires
above me
bend and falter;
the canal’s run dry.
Pendant flags
of the runway, barely move
as I contemplate life on Jupiter’s moon.
Parched and weary,
day expires.
Time for molding long gone,
we’re clay thrown in the fire.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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