A Muggy Night

(A summer night in Ithaca, NY)

Even the light by which I write betrays me.
The fan stirs the sluggish air in some resemblence of circulation.
Whatever I touch fuses to my damped skin.
Clothes, quill, paper, sheets are all melted together under the spell of this night.
Stuck on 10%, the laptop grinds away, failing to move, following the cue of the air.
The open windows are a reminder of the night mocking my attempts at comfort.
The moan of the oscillating fan escalates when the blades
Realize that they must go against the will of the air.
The only change in this night is the noise from the local radio
Pretending the night doesn'?t exist.
But the night wins this time, for the noise, although changing pitch,
Falls prey to the staleness of every breath.
This front has caused time to cease revolving.
The only records of the passage of time are my ink scratches
Left behind on a forgotten paper from a forgotten pen
That fails to be enslaved by the heavy night.