then it started raining again, it

got unseasonably grey. i was

no longer a resident here but a

guest looking up at the mountainous 

clouds thinking: “where did this

all come from?”. i was the morning

after. the later and the latter. “tomorrow”

is the word i use for “perhaps”. my 

internal thermometer has broken.

my insides are glistening with 

mercury. my dreams are fallen bigger,

fallen harder.

the day was lower longer. the 

longest was a lower tragedy. my

errors were forethought comedies.

instead of better i once fought best,

instead of good i once claimed better.

and over these hills i am hard-pressed

to actually believe it is summer.