The slow serenade of time.
The subtle spin of the clock’s tireless hands.
In endless cycles
she dances out the destitute rhythm of days.
I'll weave you a web of words
the seconds bouncing on its brittle strands.
This life is tiresome
with rusty claws I'll change my fiction face.
Hung up by rope in the shed
I'll use my bare bone canvas to make something new
someone better.
Those starving tree moored beasts
I'll hide in the rustling leaves, haunches raised for the pounce.
I want to have no perception of time
a man of madness, melancholy, impulse and innocence.
Raise your cups high
toast to everything you ever had.
Toast to life
*I'll drink to never knowing it.