i wrap my dreams around my head to keep me warm, i forget that it is the dead of summer. the new stars float and burn inches from my red scalp. the old stars let their empty celestial bodies fall to the Earth, like the skin of cicadas that litters the southern dirt when october rears its head. it feels as if it is forever dusk, but the heat of the sun persists. i am encased in my atmosphere always, like a straightjacket. i do not take the chance of letting any part of me fall away again. i let the black stars edge into my periphery. i feel safe in permanent slumber. all of my body is intact.