Never stare at the drainpipe,
it draws you away.
From whatever you remember-
the detail dialed today.
It's deafening drips-
drown out the deals.
And while watching the water-
it silently steals.
The time from your pocket.
A second, minute, hour, and soon;
the morning becomes-
a late afternoon.
The days are now nothing-
and time is undressed.
The world rots around you,
but you stay possessed.
Towers crumble to cast-
and oceans run dry.
Skeletons sleep under streetlights.
Waiting to die.
It is not until the pipe rust-
and grows an awful hue,
that you can look up-
and see the world around you.