already past as long as you can stay undecided about how to walk on the shards of this mirror after months of wind whipping the whys of juvenalia
snow on top of snow the snowman’s arm pointing somewhere
To Cross the Sea
Bubbling on the stove warm nonsense on TV I misspell the important words of other people’s stories on the line nothing drying my legs sore the floor somewhat spotless what else to binge nothing stops this war
should have had iced coffee but trees start to stumble the hot earth becomes I tell myself breathe look at the leaves completely still August 30
at the end of the day whisky cicada hit send a cool breeze down that road in any direction you end up laughing
since you’d given up on running the show like spring
first blossoms a bright new ring for old Saturn
we find the prized water. Though its song, etched in rock,
despite what Sumerian summer sunsets this dream
soft dusk colored waves of music from the cicada’s home planet
surely darkness as a cure so sip this laugh backwards