We Are Only Children Then

For Laurel


We are only children then and drifting in

the back seat of the family car.

as blue & orange neon, tungsten

red & green, and brilliant halogens

whirling-dervish past us fade

into darkness all around. I have a sister and

we are only children. drifting

in the astral seas of youth & language.

“Look” her hand says at the moon.

“Someone must of smacked him with

a rabbit cross’t his face to hush him quiet.

so that night could still be.

and so that mysteries coud still outreach us.”

We count the stars

apart from us and lonely.

“Eighty” ignorant and pretty.

“Eighty-one!” unique.

“Eighty-two!” predictable and lifeless.

“Eighty-three!” oblivious to reason.

Of that we take both leave and notice


nodding off.

But sleep’s one fault is that it so resembles death.


supernal freight trains like an earthquake shake the sky.

The roar of jet-black jaguars tears the hush-hush

fleshy shroud of sleep

from off us. scattered.

terrified & violent

shadows. schizophrenic fractures split

like spider’s lace across the opaque,

transparency of night.

Then trickle off like rain.

So easily a pebble strikes a windowpane.

the vessels shatter.

My sister wails “What happened!”


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