Jean Seberg – fingering
what’s left
of her hair
passes
but doesn’t
pass through
our field
of view
around us
and,
a boy
on a street
passes by, on
his bike, not
passing the
things
you’d be hurt
already, if
you weren’t
already dead
no one’s not alone
and above a blue sky,
a boy
on a street
again, passes
but doesn’t
pass through
our field
of
a shot
is just a thought
in the middle of
something.
