The night is young
tis fair in the crickets silent song
alates that come after summer rain
rushing traffic splashing brown water
—my socks are soaked; wet toes,
and cold shiver's marathon in a running
nose

My head pounds like a child
beating a drum
Undisciplined, uncontrollable buzzing
like bees making a hive of my thoughts
choked words by the feelings above my throat

Clouded mind, to now be feeling grey
it's grave to me to dig up my past
Clearer skies, exposed skins, and parent
shoutings, about playing where ringworm
lie in grass

The scent is sour; heaven tears left
on the soil—bending a flower
the silence ends here, but it will
again rain another hour