My embarrassment is made from-

nervous flamingos,

dancing like a ballerina

twisting and shining

bright like sky

staring into the beautiful sunset

closing into a worry on everyone’s mind.

I capture it-

where the air blows like snow

and the mud turns into dust

on a land full of treats

a dictionary of configurations

gazing into light

like a stone cold night.

My embarrassment can-

stop and twist

to imagine

what has disappeared in life

a constellation of imaginings on wooden floors

a night torn,worn

into pieces of broken mirror glass.

If all i won got lost

the earth would shake

and be broken into a million pieces

in its tiny solar system.