I pour a cold glass of lemonade
& raid my friends fridge for a nectarine
this is comfort
this is post high school summer.
Step outside to backyard.
Stoned kids discuss poverty and Man’s future
ignorantly, but putting forth the effort.
There’s something dying in the woods.
We can hear it. Coyotes ripping up some corpse
or birds slaughtering each other
The sound of school doors opening
mass production of shotgun shell wanna-bes
feeding into an economy
nestling broken images of Self
concepts of freedom are errands
labeled madness, the box’s we wear have different patterned eye holes.
The apricot is warm
like the storm