Shear

A shear of blonde hair. Shine of light pouring through a window.

  Not what it was. What it is now. The only thing that remains.
  Yes, cornsilk, but under water. Caribbean Sea. Near noon.

Laughter void of meaning in a dark empty room with a wooden floor.

  Finish is always start. Cursed to dream big. Daft machine gun sound.

  You could ride it around the world, or into space.

  I'm guessing it was death. Or my dying father. Or my next brain.

Man, a right cross to the jaw, and life changed forever.

  Born for it. Incomplete without it. Like adding an arm or leg.

  Punch thrown from a book about me getting punched.
  Hammered my past and future into a straight line.

There's a heat that comes in the afternoon during early spring.

  I don't seem to exist on cold mornings. Unborn until 2 pm.

  It thaws memory, which keeps me warm until I fall asleep.

  Dreams are the last big fun I can have. Crazy life begins again.

  Everybody dead is alive, and good-natured. I'm everywhere!

Flew along the ground of the United States, just inches above.

  Lawn, asphalt, sidewalk, football field, fallow farmland.

  I loved it. As if it was all mine. Night coming. Or shadow.