My plastic bag curdles at the sight of wind
Like cicadas simping away in the night
They call so brightly yearning for the sun
Wanting to die quickly and getting some

The cracks in the concrete seem particularly bare
The grass between the fractures used to be rare
It’s like I drew the road on a piece of paper
Throwing it to the ground after I found a tear

Recursive screams and yellow tangerines
The color of post-its could be so like thunder
My eyes want to take a nap in the summer
My head wants to strain out all the clutter

Is a body pristine the only one worth keeping
What happens to the rest of the bodies discarded
Is a life undamaged the life worth living
What happens when life does not go the way intended

Phantasma patterns descending from trees
Astrological phenomena within earthy tones
Today, I found a rose collapsing in on itself
Tomorrow, I ripped the petals from the inside