Anything Bright

My dreams burn
like trash covered in butane
between so many
Pennsylvania brick houses,
and I am happier now
with this shovel and sand
than before when I watched it all
fall through the glass.

It rains red
when I think back
to the neighborhood
chainlink chilled evenings,
when everything was overcast.

Now just handlebars rust
in the overgrown
dried out backyards
we once ran through
escaping from anything bright.

I let voicemails collect
like wings on a wire
distorting themselves
with their slithering
fidgety movements
and they all fly away.

I confide that I feel fine alone,
on this sun-stained pale
highway back home.
With my hand out the window I go,
no brakes always displacing
the softening light.