changing of the seasons make me impulsive
I’m stirring too much
to keep up with myself
mad at the sun for its audacity
when it’s 70 degrees
but I planned on it being 42
and have nothing to aspire to

now I’m free to overcompensate
with imagination
and longing on the porch
when dark drank the day
burning pink into everyone’s eyelids
leaving us sun clean
and open for the evening

I poured whiskey directly
into the wine lacing my glass
vestiges of the last thirty minutes
and I’ve moved on to
the idea of traveling as an escape
I want to go everywhere
I won’t go anywhere
that’s too many destinations to overthink