I am not a child

all the cars slow
to a rolling stop

where I lay,
fine-combing the dirt with my lashes

I've done it again

erected the edifice of my life
on the air from her lips

and when her gusts are wild,
I wish I was never born

but I am not a child

wheels appulse on the tar
inches from my tender head

I don't want to go home

I don't