Barefooter’s Canon

The heat uncovers a civil war within
From the north,  brainstem exfoliates thoughts like eczema
From the south,  burning as arteries plump and open 
To the left-right kiss of sole on baking cement

The forces meet and battle  quiescently in the gut
As the mechanics of the run take over

When the north surges,  tiny resentments vine around
massive plans to remake the world in my image

When the south surges,  primal instincts surface and boil
Id like the dirty sap of asphalt tar

When both relax their grip,  there is just This 
A car from behind
Doppler swoosh,  a brush across silence’s canvas
Lids half closed,  sparked saline burn across the whites
Another swoosh
Silence
And another,  and another

North and south gather;
Fall into the canvas.
Two more colorless hues
Completing one more work
In this, the Barefooter’s Canon