summer's end in poetry

paranoia runs deep at the summer’s end
cuts through the still-drying sweat like a stream
the hot opportunities cooling off just like the nights
or anyhow that’s how it seems
at the summer’s end

it’s a madness of a particular kind
locking down what green you once found
clawing at chances slipping away
or once imagined chances anyway
there’s something jealous about summer’s end
clawing and cloying in the foggy air
it turns folks against each other
it tends to be the trend
turning just like the calendar
at the summer’s end

it’s a kind of heat
it’s a kind of wine
it’s a I need this
it’s a I got mine
it gums like melted pavement
it cuts like turpentine
it feels like desperation
is your only living friend
at the summer’s end

paranoia cuts real deep
until the winter brings its sleep
that we probably need
from time to time