Schedules

Somewhere

where we yet don't know what we don't know,

sitting under night in the courtyard where we shouldn't be,

when so young we could never know what we could have and never have again-

That kind of unresisting smile with no perception of age and time,

the vast moon rolls overhead and yet evokes nothing, for it still a time unparted-

Not yet our last night under ‘tair and bega, not yet our last night ‘sides the honeysuckles I listen

to the gentle vrum of the roadsize sizzle of droplets and the windshield metronome

there's a part in its arc where the rubber just catches for a split, and it swings a vm,

vm mmdmm vm mmdmm vm mmdmm.

Dad asks if i'm looking forward ‘ but I pretend to be asleep, mom says to let me since we woke up early.

On the plane I untangle my earbuds and listen to j-rock.

‘ love it when the drink cart comes, and I always ask for ginger ale.

‘ show dad one of my drawings, it's a city sketch, and he smiles and critiques it.

I try to fill the shops with goods and items, but it’s this world that’s populated by rectangles and margins-

This world—that’s just a joke, did you think I’d make a metaphor from that?

I know this planet inhabited by any number of people, and hence any number of ideals, methods, perspectives, schedules, conditions, challenges, ne

ne,

ne!

I don’t care anymore about this, I just want . . .

I’ll shut up.

An infinite number of ideals, methods, perspectives, schedules, conditions, challenges, circumstances-

I can’t contend to understand.

People flicker and wither.

My light flickers, and I just wait.

I’ll just wait and-