Is
Stomping rocking rolling brightly colored feathers all together one for all through flight and fall all these people who you don't really know and your friends
Is smelling aromas of food light brightly colored costumes the show is going on and on and on and on forever it seems like but
Finally the fireworks! Your tired souls of feet and spirit lean against each other all the people in that one together mass
Watch the fireworks.
Bright.

Loud.

The colors

Spark your memory

The
Beats and fluid ways of the day all are one, the show, the rhthym, the way we move, together the smells the sights the overstimulation is

The 

Fireworks
(Are beautiful, see them?)

The 
Carnival.

Summer girl
Flip flops
Tank tops
loose hair
Don't care
How much time she has left in the world of 
Vacation
Starting to turn into 
Summer girl
Early runs
Nothing but fun
Soak up the sun
Starting to turn into
Summer girl.

I can't write in a box.
Not the big cardboard one waiting to leave with our recycling,
Not the small, ornate, golden tea-box in an antique shop somewhere-or-other
And not the cold metal safe that can travel and appear in every bank at once.
Not any box.
I can't write in a box.

Some boxes my words would overflow
Spilling out the edges and scrambling across the floor.
Some they would feel too small in.
In some they would cluster about each other
Making tight clumps and little knots
They would feel judged
And looked at
By too many molecules of box.
Flammable boxes will not work
My words can be like a ball of fire 
And frozen ice boxes and refridgerators are too cold and unwelcoming.

My letters want to spin themselves into jeweled crowns and beautiful rainbows
My words can weave together and apart
Making shimmering curtains of light