Not Even June, Whoof

As much as it sucks being cold,
I’d rather hunt down layers of sweaters
and blankets to pile on,
than be hot, sticky from sweat,
or plain damp through with no
hope to dry out till the evening
or a shower (get wetter to dry off,
as if that makes any sense),
even then maybe not really
truly for days till the heat breaks,
speaking of, maybe if I smash
the sun with a sledgehammer
I can break the heat manually,
worth a shot maybe, my body
isn’t melting like ice cubes
that become pure puddles,
I am becoming a mountain of sludge
that no one wants, not even dogs
panting on the roadside (I witnessed
my dog lap from a puddle that was half
mud, mind you), I don’t  rage against
the machines so much as rage against
insanity of my body being taken over
by sticky sludge, I could muster power
to break the sun, where’s that sledgehammer