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,
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.