Crayon People
faces like traffic lights at
night: a burst of bright
color then puncturing the
paper-thin into night. draw
the curtains; light recedes and
leaves invisibility to shroud
me—already snuffed out. don't
think the lights will stay; break
of day will evaporate me and
they're still
immobile.
a running dream: sleeping with
my eyes open. enter the
perpetual fall. does the windshield
even notice me? let's hollow
out my head, stitch back up
a balloon (like leaning forward
to my toes—liftoff). vanishing
in perspective, i'll slice through
the atmosphere and at the top:
POP me and a million others are
plastic bags full of glitter. their
airplanes are flying too fast for
confetti to touch windows. i want
to clip wings and burn bridges but
sails sweep up and away: stare up
and waiting for the sky to shed
her freckles.