Block Party Solstice
The entire party's being
held outside of standard time,
a minor surge of sound. Three
by three, the party goers pass, as precise
as cotton candy. It's true
they are excessive. Some say
their pink, sticky hair drifts off
and floats. Do you feel spun sugar in your face?
Déjà vu. A parallel
picnic, running into night,
is dense with candied music,
little lost sounds mixed in an anodyne.
All the people with pink hair
lie down, sleep their paisley dreams,
dry martinis for their pain,
laughter spinning in the citronella breeze.