Tears from the mystical sky
seeped in through my shoulder—
as I let its fervor tears
dampen my lowly soul;
he said, “hear me out”

The way it moves around
sailing toward to broaden
mysterious mists—the plastic clouds
covering most of the gleam of the sun
and the way he murmurs into my ears—
I can never get out again.

While strange stares pierced through
my core—a menacing way of
forcing unraveling fragile pieces
of my silent port, and there I
let a foreign one
travel his way through—
sailing beneath my springs.

On this day of August's chilly afternoon—
while the tears of the mystical sky
tumbles through my shoulder—dripping
my cold dry bones.

to know time,
is to know
the value of life.

to understand time,
is to understand
the meaning of 42
without a visit to the afterlife.