Roundup End

Confusion, like painted shells,
and I can’t rely on translation.
Using my place to have said one
release. I’m having to watch, so I’m
sipping this as fast I’m able.
Turn the ethics to wharfs, where
I’m actually encouraged.
Dancing to what rhythms escape
beyond branches. I’m list, lost,
glorified, imbibed. Wishing for
intent weather. Blank cups in A.M.,
that won’t help. Already eager for my fly,
Hours away, find me a forward button,
one that works. Edges roughed, picture lux.