fortnight to follow
people were people
and inappropriate was obvious- avoided even
because “it’s not the right time”
manipulation halted like the planes
and for a spell the peace it seemed might stay forever
we were just big eyed deer
near the hum of strange highways
together in some kind of fluid world
but you can gauge by days the dimming
the slowly ramping haze
the colossal return to a bad lover
underneath the carbons of the gary sky
and i think back through campaigns
in search of some sensibility
ripe for return
there is none to find
and i hold down the tarp tightly
wrap’d tightly knuckles round
fearing the succession of terrors it will take to find
once and for all
that for programming of this kind
never is the right time
