grass and hot glue guns
I sense it--all the colors of an old home
sun rays remain restful
howls remain joyful and quick
long necks of geese flood my line of sight
as their beaks open, my ear canals widen with insanity, hungry for false memories
creations of the mind fraught with wormholes
here at Russel Field I live again
and fold the laughter into my flesh
my tangled pit of a stomach is cooled by familiar sprinkles
water meets pavement and in its death finds a new beginning
I miss my old coat of chlorine
security blankets never grow tiresome
orange juice hats and baseball mitts
fitful blissful
clutching for roses
