the hand on the clock
moves with my heart
meticulous and non-stop
running in circles
but the workings of my mind
cannot be measured
by a single moment in time
neither the end nor the start
but i've made my mind up
i've found my role
the hand on the clock
moves with my heart
but not with my soul

i've seen you cry
felt your pain
i've dried your eyes

i've seen your worst
felt your anger
i've helped your hurt

i've seen your best
felt your smile
i've forgotten the rest

i've seen your heart
felt your pulse
i've touched every part

i've seen your love
felt your love
i've fallen in love

Her blood is the blood of the stars,
Haven’t you heard?
They’ve played your dismissal in the choir of misfortune
And the roses you grew have found their perish
Long before the season of blossom.
Your name can’t be read in constellations anymore,
Nor can you see what you once were.

In a moment, the world turns
And the girl you knew escapes.
From the rings of Saturn she leaps,
And from her fingertips she lets go.

Groping prostitutes
Violating hearts
and nothing is sacred
and nothing is valid.
Honesty overrated
Love bludgeoned by the masses.
irrational distaste bleeds from the pores.
Spores spawning sores.
Returning blind.
returning.
Leaving
Returning.


What did she tell you?
"You didn't pay me enough."

Your vision is stuck in my eyes:
The time you stared at me,
Waiting for me to cross our destinies,
As I crossed, nervous and anxious,
Your smile withered all doubt.

    It's wild, you know,
The depths of those memories
    I hold near me always.

   And from the depths of my love
A taste of your lip gloss climbs
To my lips stilling my time,
I don't know what glimmers
In the kiss, but the fragrance
Stayed with me to this day.

I take you with me
Everywhere in peace or wild times,
In the memory it trickles
Unto the maddening day.

Your the same wild girl
Today as when I first brought
You to my side.

A misty morning
Leaves its dew
On a slab of granite
Facing the back yard,
The names etched
Recently.

Across the roadway,
Facing the asphalt
Sits a bench, its seats
Empty, the names
Obscure.  Children
Play innocently.

Passing away is
Euphemistic, but
The phenomenon
Is not.  Granite and
Urns of dust carry
On and on and on.

Innocence during
Life stops as mind
Becomes attuned
To the slings and
Arrows of decades
Of faulty love.

A long-lost friend
Received a holiday
Letter, years after
No-contact love.
He suffered much,
Died yesterday.

All these years, I
Have strayed, paths
Worn down by
Rain and mud.
Is there a road
Home?

Rebellion begets a
Ton of memories,
Lost kisses, roses dried
And withered, off-key
Music and dead
Teetotalers.

The earth is tired,
So favorite lullabies
Drown in salt and
Ice, alongside dirges
And psalms, just
In time.


© Lewis Bosworth, 1/2017