I drink a cut so deep it breathes me wise,
as they tend to say I say
where one might bleed some danger of a truth
in a trapeze city feathered by blues.
Budding in rosy snow’s, earnest, spitting paint
sealed tight in Summer’s nonsense, blazing orange perfection
and charmingly lost, one Constellation soldier, melted down
into wholesome, silent bricks that build a solemn house.
Curious, Daisy-chained, a child unknowing—
seasons pass, honest now, you’re
You forget that mountains hide the eyes of Lightning stars
and their hearty laughter learned in Thunder grown apart.