Children of summer

A little child died this morning.


I slashed through the cars,

Ripped out the engine and buried it,

(C'est la vie) deep, deep… ever so steep.


I wasn't born this happy.

Just like these stars which fall into circles.

I was too alone, to become a bullet point.

So I staged a full stop.

Words shuttered through my chest,

(blood) became gold like my bones.


Now it's the end of winter

with her bracingly slow numbness.

Cold's out.

The latest fashion-

stripped to the sunny, funny, lovely



Summer… so sweet.