pas[sed]t

when over dust
we layer impact
riddle it heavy
with soiled biographies

when over “couldn't do
the Russian doll thing,
the mould would not wrap
smoothly, it chafed”

let alone how awkwardly
it stuck out on one side
peeling away, just peeling
and then what to do
with the debris?

if we had known how
you must never this or that
would we have kneaded yet another?
break differently in company?

sorries could have been more
frequent, like the calls midday
for any type of great offer
but what if I don't own

the house I live in?
or the windows that need replacing?
and the sink still drips away upstairs
so used, the mould, it sticks

by now we should've been up the ladder
the frog in the glass does it towards sunshine
hitting eventually, you must admit
the ceiling, not the roof

I'm climbing. if so,
are we to meet?

everything would have been quiet
when over, the return solely to reminisce
and sure, here too you could find a violent key
piece it all together so.

I'd pay! and pledge to consumerism
that it belonged to the inner world
like water belongs to
drawing and expelling

when over air
which always stretches infinite
never restarts
we layer impact
hold no longer
nothing is fresher than this

I'm climbing. I am.
I'm climbing. only,
because I ran out of time.