Summer was a sunset of
fiery oranges and pinks that
demanded to be seen.
A cascade of sexist phisophical texts was
the only constant admist
internship talks, a
wavering appetite for
electronic poetry, and the sight of
distant fireworks through a
tinted bus window.
In between the screaming pain in
six dozen muscle fibers,
I entertained a
whirlwind of friends from
elementary, middle, and high school with café talks and bar trivia, and returned home, alone in the
early hours of the new day,
to dictate fervent writings onto a
screen of shatted glass.
