turns out my heart is ruled by reason, and the need to have reasonable people handle it.

I've grown cold quickly, for me-- but there's not much more to smoulder on.

a month, at most
of wasted time
lavishing in the silt
fine and full of minerals
runny slip
glistening in the sun

anguishing
over every speck of filth
and
over every utterance
in the oppressive august air.

may I make it May again?