One Circle

This story is about Sabine and her bicycle.
Her bicycle is made of raw pink plastics with Christmas lights
And rusty steel with some rough pledge’s pride
Stamped with spirits of well-wishes and goodbyes
That only happens when Daylight cries.
Each droplet a friend, each friend her fortune
Waiting in brown wheat basket, the Clairvoyant sang about her backyard song

Confession

Sabine, my friend.
Come sit here and tell me a story
I want to make the world remember
That it wasn’t written for October
Lend me something I want to borrow
So I can blow kisses in my dreams for my cookies and screams,
And I’ll come back smiling to tell you a real story

Prologue

Sabine’s bicycle is a journey play. Making jigsaws into stories to take us there, and bring us back. We carve the track and lay the stones – with curious eyes and butterflies. And soon, promises made without us realizing the curtains draw.

At Night

Lash back, fried turky freak
When lucky rose embrace.
The Irish blue carpet perish.
An indelible drama.