But you were saying, I was saying
together we stutter toward a stab at the everafter
and still this treaty between us shatters
the swallow's leaf-rot nesting sours the breeze
Aphids lace the startled iceplants with spit
Even those cool midday shadows wouldn't correct our dreams
were we to sleep, and so the thinking, at this moment
is of stalling whatever's next
what's going to need to happen here, people, is either we let that noise at last lull every ambition to ruin, or we rise up and reach for the keys and get out
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