untitled

concrete leaves etchings on
the essence of meager pickings
beneath my soul.

whatever else remains
can ooze out beneath everest
because it is foul

as i have ever been.

the time is now
but my name
is kin
to transparency

and leftovers are none.

we are made of transitions
and transitions
and endings to
promises

to which we'd never
thought of
giving fruit.