Every time we go in

And see the

Night sky. August

Screams and the green slivers of grass

Tickle the flesh. We're stuck

And left to stand by

Our lonesomes. The

World is expansive, but quite like we're the last

Ones on Earth. Rays

Dance across the sky; of

Mourning stars and sun

Imposters. We are there, the

Only witnesses. Cracked

Minds like a chipped teacup.

Thoughts dribble out like screams.

A "Golden Shovel" Poem with the use of Etheridge Knight's Haiku "In the August grass Struck by the last rays of sun The cracked teacup screams."