"Holiday"
Despite of the weather, I tell you everything
I'll never say to you.
And I keep swaying, red plastic cup in hand,
until I'm not myself entirely.
You look nice under the mirror ball--
sparkle, sparkle, swirl.
And how like the squall your face, a cast of shade reeling.
Please open the sky with a nail, or a hammer, or a nail.
I want to see the moon's umbrella glory the lawn.
It rains, it rains in the suburbs,
on sidewalks and fences where glitterati crows
imagine themselves into trees.