Degrees

Like those in a thermometer shoved in your mouth. Like the ones stamped on your wall, burned black and blue, like beatings by your universities. Like others in the shapes you see in your eyes just after dreaming, that you can't get back and won't coalesce again into nightmare trips to lost schools and parents with parrot-shaped heads. Like those diagrammed in connections to stars and families. Like the ones the wind plays with, when it's feeling chilly and is willing to share it with others. Like others in missile firing patterns that target you and the place you call home, along with many others who are not oblivious of the dangers, yet don't think about it because doing so would freeze them in traffic, in bed, in the kitchen, drinking coffee with no where to go to escape.