As a youth, the double yellow
lines never manifested in bold,
and my house, quaint--the only difference
between a neighborhood aquared and mine
were the dalliance of polygons.
Vinyl seats and a rabbit, volk
putt-putt along narrow roads
of wire smiles in sub-districts
washed up after a bushhogging
post-market, the flashflood
on gravel-grey graphs. Shelter
offered roots and cleared
the mustang grapes.
This was my first patch of earth—memories
quant and kibble, thus manifested
deep in caves as red oche.
Here, I found the warpaint
unknowing of the allotment, the station
to be folded neatly, placed
among knickknacks in shoeboxes.
I was; I am liminal— myBody aches
from climbing invisible trees.
yet, I'm still
a wide-eyed kitten clinging to the trunk.