the years go fast in seasons, in 4 parts
like a dollar (to a child) in quarters
a quart of milk in cups
a kid once tore his dollar in half to give me 50 cents
but our year evades perforation, sits at an angle
we make this shape with our bodies
of ascendent angels future, italic
it’s still a roller rink, a ring of Saturn
a slanted sculpture, the angel
wants to go back
and fix
my thinking pinballs and
feelings
are shovel shaped
new myths carved in solid granite
the contours of my fantasies
crumble in 15 minute increments
the hours drop to flash
flood, summer
itself sober
at the waterfront of my dreams
my eyes adjust to the dark
and I see it's all hospital
supine, ascendent
angels
rollerskating off
the drawing of earth
