Rolling Through Intersections

Forecasting Hope

Out Of Refills
in any kind of weather…

I had it written on my calendar:
Shame doesn’t end until the December of hope,
but renews in January, missing fourth quarter projections,

when I stop taking my meds,
ignore tabulations on calculators
because I have no goals, 2026-infinity.

Humanity had its debut
before they tallied box office receipts
before my two cents…rubbed together —

It’s time for a change. Been glued to this chair…
going on nine months. It’s life outside.

I could stand outdoors in any weather with love.
But, no forecaster on tv can give a true depiction
of what any of the tomorrows may be,
as nature remains as true. Except:

UV, rising heat index, air quality,
tsunamis that can’t reach me,
earthquakes that would disrupt home life.
While all dis-eases my heart.

If I quit life…but, reawaken
to a world of nightmares
when insomnia rules always.

Breathe.
Can’t.
I’ll get sick-er.

One thing always applies, if I can spare…

༺♡༻

There’s a point when pessimism is realism,
less true than ageism —
the last dis-ease.