I am bruised knees
Waving at tie-dyed children through school windows
Falling out of trees of apples
I am red with confused fingers
I seem to be looking for a megaphone
I am dead dragonflies
I seem to be a train
I am wet footprints down the dock
I am catching the next wave out of here
It seems I am not the only one
I am fossilized peanut butter in a rented kitchen
I am making air graffiti where everyone can hear me
With my tongue
All-nighters high on nothing but thoughts
I am too tired to care
I seem to be unplugged
I am doing cartwheels
I seem to be avoiding populated areas
I am cracked fingers to parades
I seem to have a jagged spirit
I am the kid asking, “Where did all the good people go?”