The salvation of the morning blurs my eyes.
(Burning, twisting/Sleep weighs down my bones)
The inconsistent birds chirp away at the construction
called daybreak,
Scattering the sunlight under burrowing blankets
and clasped pillows.
Later: Tires grinding pavement,
The soft murmur of the radio serving as a backdrop
for the cutting silence.
My palm/cupping my cheek bone,
My freckles faded under the tranquility.
It's not even seven in the morning before we hear sirens
slicing through the air.
littlegirl bopeep,
(My teeth slip into my tongue)
passenger seat never doing you any good
(Blood forms a small pool)
littlegirl uninformed,
(It smothers my taste buds)
little girl.
(the stains glaring up from the tar
 will never fade.)
The salvation numbs my fingers.