sitting in attics watching dust, gold and glowing glitter-like dust billowing inside rotten peach houses against puffy plum skies. carrying satchels stuffed with clumsy memories. glitter dust leaches, falling. still gold. flying. sinking. back into skin, again. and lungs. memory. running in loop-de-loops and upside-down crosses on burning streets. sun scorching corneas and bare toes. moon drooping in now. easily. but suddenly. somehow humble. though, spilling spells out of craters and into half-melted vanilla milkshakes. eat 'em up. swoon too soon. mistakenly falling against unknown street poles. knocking bewildered minds into slumber, so deep. body sinks. with the lazy roots, now. gone. rotting into eternity, once again. as only closed lashes, latched, could know.