some

fire in the ocean 

color in the sky

independence 4 

some. the rest

forced to the ground

eat dirt. i. what i

have i like to give

so they. they

can taste some

too  #katyamills

bye bye 4th of july

settlers of land
painted faces and hair
nationalist fervor
fireworks stare

bye bye
bye bye

parading at night
smoke and bright light
cut through the forests
river of white

bye bye
bye bye

river of red
river of blue
fourth of july
goodbye

fare the well
stars by stripes
fifty two gun
salute

revolutionary snares
the flute

bye bye
world wars
peaceful sweet sandy
shores

bye bye

free

The air was popping and crackling and exploding all around us, and as the sun set i listened to independence day sing her song, sizzling and whistling and screaming into darkness, and the chaos of my mind went dead finally, in the midst of this busy life, and i became a small yet meaningful voice among millions, no, billions of inflections wishing to be heard. And small yet meaningful was all i ever was and cared to be.

pause into super fun

What I love about life. The fireworks stands have risen like cardboard flowers and stand in church and pharmacy parking lots selling small explosives at small expense, so common people can contribute a bang and a kick out of stars into the dark night and anniversary of our independence not long from now.

Today is the 7th in our latest summer wave of heat. Almost everyone has a roof over their heads. Almost everyone has a freezer, an ice cube tray, water gets frozen and cracked, only to melt down the throat and pissed out steaming, flushed and back to the ground and up into the plants, or out into greater bodies of waters, then subject of the sun and burned into haze cooled into fog, condensed into air, risen into clouds, cooled again at night and dropped...

The opening eyes of children, the tall ones first, all the way down to the middle ones and then the littlest ones holding their hands looking up up and incredulous, just as you all strike the matches and ignite the sulfur with twine and flame made from fluid, the spark off the side of your thumbprint grinding alloy with the flint, rubbing your identity right into it, and your small stars shot into the night with all the others, aginst the rippling flags and melting pot of frozen sugars...

If we could only all see, only see, you and me, from above, all the breaking apart and coming together of material, the tension, the unity. Cries of joy, subsiding, crackling seconds of attention and paper particles confetti the air, then back to subdued tones and complaints and kids running and using legs like trees to hide behind and duck around. Then looking up again and the thunderous sound far above makes you realize how small you are, and the adults become kids all over again. Fifty years or more of this. Rocking chairs on porches and reports like gunfire but without the violence, only to be super fun times, and the kind-like voices over radio. Television flashes through the windows in the dark.

Headlights cast across the knees. Some are walking and others on bicycles, and many now driving away. Listen. Crickets and squeaky wheels. There will be no less struggle between me and myself, you and yourself, and ideally we can be our own best friends, i can be my own as i display the best of my abilities in plain view,  up against the best of yours and everyone else's. Perfectly on hold and iced until tommorrow. Four of swords. Pause into the super fun into the calm afterward.

The material of life. The mercury makes a difference, tomorrow more pressure and harder to breathe. My fair skin is nothing to the sun. The body is much on the mind, is nothing compared to the spirit. We will sleep and wake again into the beauty of the fullness of light and the breakfast table. If I am lucky I will continue to fight my own desires, my own ennui every day, blasting it to hell and confetti myself into paper. Being alone won't matter. Could be a great day coming and why the hell not.

Journal #07.06.15

The sun has risen again, and everyone has gone to work. I work at night, so I am at home watching the light edge across the patterns on my couch and carpet, and the quilt my mother gave me. There is firework paper and debris all throughout the city. The night of independence saw me at home, drinking coffee and walking from front to back porch and back to front, listening and looking. From my location, rather central to this city, I could imagine skirmishes all along the perimeter as though we were defending our home from invasion. A strange sensation of patriotism crept into my heart as my imagination took hold. For my city has never been on the verge of attack. My person, yes. My character, yes. My philosophy, yes. But never this place on the map.