it's funny to imagine time as walking;
would he wear boots? naturale, perhaps?
would he get tired? bored? would he relapse
to the classic passtime of beat-step stalking
the second hand round the clock face?
think! a formless concept in real space...

so then, why would this "distance" matter?
i could wave my hand - open a portal
up between moments; our newly immortal
honeymoon periods served on a platter
well - why not? it's a trick; the reverse
of our father's relativity to our universe

birds feast on daybreak
worms; threads of song borne from dirt
salvaged as dusk wind

seconds drag; their limbs
line the hallways while we sleep:
yesterday's awake

feel the air thicken;
neurons twist around your throat,
sleep, and save your breath