Stoned

I'm an audio-lamplight walkabout
Forest fire,
I'm a rough edge scrape step, stumble,
Fallen, seen in harsh light,
Scrutinized or criticized, loved or
Hated by the ones that walk around.
Too much sensory love for
The things that pull a heart so easy.
I am beaming light bent backwards
Easy, and I fold simply like
A paper plane from an older hand.
Familiarity in the crease of time when
You think about it for a moment.
God, the buildup for this beauty,
Well it's got to be something. Maybe
I'll explode into a million pieces,
And scatter me into the atmosphere
Amongst the infinite grace of
Environment.