Unwashed, unbent
We sit on streets
Steadying ourselves
against the earth
whispering about
nickels and dimes
and the rag-tag
wanderings of the past
while the girls are
kissing or smoking or
talking, always the mouths
always moving
Scientists aren't certain what benifits,
if any, the scorpion gains by glowing.
By day it's the faded dull blue of a sandbox
toy abandoned, by night something else
entirely. At night it gives back everything.
-Jill Osier
