Under the green light of the branches, where You birthed me,
Under the streaked sky’s flying engines, wings, and whines,
By the gravel’s grating crunch like ice cubes, cold and dry-
Here the sweat of my upper lip is like relief,
Like exhaust from a burning, bleeding heart that sparks
With friction, “It’s fractious”, foolish:
Pulling two ways and never brave enough
To let one side win.
Cicadas grin and cackle wickedly.
But it’s only my interpretation, because they riddle me with bullets so my irritation
Will lure out the devil, like the spittle on the pine needle aggravates the ant lion
From his hollow in the sand.