Bare feet into the dirt
dry dust falls down
like powdered sugar
enshrouding the scorching sun.
From the winter,
Icicles in your eyes
melting down in streaks
freezing like diamonds on your chin.
And your skin. It was snow, only colder.
And the sun's still here
but it seems older.
        She's wearing a smile tonight.

"I'm goddamn drunk." She tells me, and her
eyes tilt upwards. Up to the sky, up to the
stars. Balancing between school and social
life, left or right, which way to look at,
being sober and being drunk. Balancing on
two legs like rubber bands. And that was okay
because most people she met balanced between
BMW's and Porsches, or jacuzzi's and hot
water springs. At least she knew what it was
like to live in the gutter. Her junkie-
posture was hidden in a lot of slummy clothes
she scrounged up somewhere. Shoes she stole.
A cigarette. She twisted left, she twisted
right. Her neck said crack. The bag in her
inside pocket said crack as well. "Goddamn
drunk." She repeats, and bursts out in laughter.

Her laugh echoing through all those lousy
streets, along with the wind, the fog, bacteria.
Once she stops laughing and looks in a puddle,
catches her reflection, she silences down. With
the sterile light of a flickering streetlamp, she
notices some gasoline that's seeped into the
puddle turning into rainbowy colors.

"Goddamn drunk." She tells me again.