The day is suddenly hot, and heated, underneath a sun making droplets of water float.

An umbrella stands, open, greeting the sun and holding it dearly, close.

I swear damp cigarettes smell like wet grass, attractive amid simmering tar in a square kettle.

Time is still, almost quiet, because it plugs my ears, making me oblivious to anything not natural.

If I want to remember today, because I moved up in class, I will remember the cost of the ticket, like a tattoo of ink on my skin.

There were many pretty girls just graduated from school, and boys who lent them their sweatshirts.

They gave up on their curves to stay warm, toes bare, ice smoothies sweet and cold, sucked through straws.

As luck is always one chance in a million, envy glares, sure that the result and the reason are wrong.

I love the look and usefulness of a white pickitte fence, something even the smell and dirt of a pig farm cannot swallow.

We are oblivious to the speed of the universe; in a vacuum, there is no stop, no wait.

For something so peaceful, we are the loudest noise, rambling like a pin ball trapped as a marble.