going to see the words slip out
slant of the light, smell of the wind,
outside is always better, balanced on a whimsy
stir, stir, stir, but then again
reflections, quixotic, the ball rolls down the slope
glass needs to break, don’t question this
the itch to be staring on into the night
laid bare, scratching the surface,
like the constant hoorays, covering up
grins never fading away, the version next of this
is a full-stop.