This is some sun

I want my tent in the centre of the stadium hub,
the limb distant sound systems
and girls with wings
will be something.

This weekend I won't write poems.
I will be an aerial of optimism.
My skin bubbling like gum
my ears comfortably numb, will want

the bassist at my back,
the fish bone spine of the beautiful xylophonist to be mine.
I will give the trees new eyes
with the sunglasses that I find,

sherper the pink and purple sheep closer to the lake.
I will stand so close to the monitors
that I can count out my own heart.

I peel of my cardigan and stare
at the bright eyed strangers holding hands,
I hum along and think
'this is some sun'.