August's

Jared takes the tank, and the softer earth for sinking under weight (in tons).  

This is not the news we’re fans of, not the watery drink, not ice that moves nowhere.  I make trips southerly.

I am hopeless, a devotee, possessor of no knowledge worth knowledge.  I change my tickets, my chances, cancel reservations and hear no one.

I am ambivalent, but not ambivalent enough.  I am still bothered by the periphery. 

It’s in every boring detail not worth sharing.  I used to be that immature, but no one can be as invested as I am in me.  My poverty, my diseases, my addictions aren’t.