(On the) Eve of My Wasted Prime by Thea Brown

camera clicks unwelcome this     tent a safeguard
from a decade’s night’s critters I never     got used to loving   
I know what tastes together tastes like together     ness
namely plumb and duck or     flashmob and your one palm 
but I am never the one     anyone ever thinks of when 
they think of doing well or good at it     but I woke up in 
the future      it’s hard to say what this means      maybe
a plane boils down to remote     control     a flower boils
down to drug      the worst kind of inquiry is that
which presupposes a getting     at answers applicable to 
mourning      the sky assuming a guise of translucence and town 
squares everywhere     staticked with light in the sense like 
glow or frost     rolls in the banners rolls out     the light
the day I turned     thirty it will be the day I will     remember
to flip my calendar day page to   or the day that gives
up early     where are you where     your tracking     me
tracking myself     and I always am ready   for something