Vespers (99)

outside it is eighty-nine degrees
at midnight twenty-three
I am accustomed to tethering
experience to innocence

motel walkways always hold
the day's heat
sheltering the body from mind
light and the moon

cools postlude of a free form
summer where and ice machine
scuffles raw data
whining behind chrome

I hear a man's voice
in a mild drone
capsulizing the subtraction
of idea to allow the soul