Like a crab
in the night
over damp sand.
I can smell blood when I’m down this low.
I wonder how many toes I’ve cut.
The Big Dipper shook dust off; onto my skin.
Made me a beacon in a constellation of people.
I am one of everything
and everything is one with me.
I’ll never wash off the glitter again.
I was thinking about the Midwest.
White, orange, and black cars.
The color of the craft,
our New Year
Spotted on the first day of Summer.
Sometimes fresh starts aren’t always so fresh.
Sometimes they are hot and burning off scorching concrete.
Sometimes they are born on Midnight in the suburbs of Connecticut.