Sundry theatres leap TOWARD A future tense

woke this morning to a joke of green breeze, slight ease

another plane ascends another feeling angled differently

a season shifts into view already a year this circle

one updates the calendar so more contents to pass by

weeks of illusion waking through walking through

despair is overused especially in private rooms

when screens are too much to bear, the air

storefronts obscure the forecast in the longest month

that storefront likes to tell me what i mean

night revs its descent the cars keep doing with their lights

flecks of light render the depth of field divisible

i fumbled the mundane expectation

already a year since i saw her face all the screens i would erase

weeks outside the perspective, i step out onto the street

leaves skate the earth in particles springly

a season shifts into view already a year this circle

a circle isn’t perfect is it made to break?

loosely, without notice, night declines to answer

to hasten one’s own death is to loosen a string already falling away

i wish to fall upon a no-state outlasting misbelief

to figure what this means like cups collecting at the sink

i do not know how else to dare

past the breakers where the current shifts

breakers mark the boundary of should and could she kept swimming

night declines loosely, without notice

sleep settles into the texture of what i mean by despair

weeks outside perspective? step out onto the street

sky turns neon tangerine a gush to softer blue

total music sweeps up the skin and through

it leaps pre-memory, plays the classical pleasure that is weather

the force of having seen her again, lines thick with it, joy?

a rashly written sentence thickens its own feeling

actual fire for the loss it has been a year from where this bottoms out

the season settles into the texture of what i mean by despair

the folds of that dress how to wring them

to figure what this means with cups collecting at the sink

how many cups of coffee threaten a life

night declines to answer

i could trace these worry lines rapidly slip down them

to draw is a pouring forth, as from the lip of a jar

a year turns thick with its own resetting

so many slips in the trying

in a litany of origins all survival and thriving

are we all cats astray in the alleyway

we could fall upon a no-state outlasting misbelief

snowtrapped powerlines obscure the forecast in the longest month

i should not wait for this place to tell me what i mean

sirens roll their sound around where elsewhere bells would toll

a circle isn’t perfect is it made to break?

this season has lasted a year

i would have rented a casual errand instead

on the street umbrellas flush perpendicular to sun

trust trapped us, i laughed to myself in the flicker rain

flecks of light render the depth of field divisible

actual fire for the loss it has been a year from where this bottoms out

the folds of that dress how to wring them

you could trace these worry lines rapidly slip down them

how many cups until this bottoms out

past the boundary of should and could she kept swimming

past the breakers where the current shifts

survival thrusts tangibly life from insurance, health from industry

this season has lasted a year, settles into the texture of what i mean by despair

update the calendar for more contents to pass by

this forecast is the already complex continued

i would have rented a casual errand instead

the new emergencies are the old hardly rinsed

the new requirement for immediate use is vague caution

i fumbled the mundane expectation

past the breakers where the current shifts

the greater things arrived at hand i am unprepared only

can you trace the productivity of my steamed envelopes

plenty of relations exist in the amplitude

handle carefully the wandering procedure like bees in trill joy

these sundry theatres leap toward a future tense

i do not know how else to dare

this season has lasted a year

plenty of relations in the amplitude

to draw is a pouring forth

so many slips in the trying

so rashly written, thick with it

the force of seeing her again

a force, the loss of it

past the breakers where the current shifts

already a year since i saw her face

all the screens i would erase

i fumbled the mundane expectation

i wrote this a year ago

two years ago

a circle isn’t perfect is it made to break?

loosely, night declines

to slip down these worry lines

in a litany of origins all survival is thriving

where fountains drain in the ruins park

circles imperfect already break

i don’t need to die today