I keep a pocket watch,
meticulously polished
and
insistently checked,
in my left breast pocket.

There it lives
on it ticks,
the soft clicks a reminder
of its continuous ticking
lasting far past the heart
that beats just below.

Toxically clean,
a faint scent of acetone drifts
on the wind as I walk pass,
head down and in a hurry.

I retreat quietly, gripping
the watch I rub in circles,
counter clockwise and
in compulsion,
an absent minded fidget
that helps panicked time pass,
it’s melodic clicks a
centering metronome.

A glimmer breaks through the clouds,
A single beam of white light drifts
through the skylight above
As I lay with back to carpet,
watching the fan lazily rotate.

The fan wobbles and creaks,
it’s paint chipped and weary.
Chains dangle below, rattling
And the blades blur in rotation.

I do not blame the ones of before
for seeing a single hopeful beam of light
and dropping to their knees in prayer,
tears dripping down in the face of
a savior, any savior.

The layers behind eyes flitting with
joy, eyes that dart about, drinking in the scene
to that of unseeing blank, wide mouthed
as if in awe of the world above,
stuck in their ways for eternity.

In this empty space I reach out my hand
to grasp the silken veil draped over our snow globe.
I run my fingers over its surface,
It babbles as a brook flows in between
my fingers.

Scenes constantly shift, disappear and reappear
on its surface and as I grasp the material
it crumples like an old picture crushed in disdain.
I inhale slowly, filling my lungs,
and yank the covering off
in one quick motion.

It collapses inward, being pulled towards my grasp.
The scene's decay, all fade to black one be one
and the material grows course and heavy,
piling on the ground and revealing
revealing
revealing

the deepest, most consuming black
a color so dark it seemed to absorb all light
devouring it and demanding more
and laughing all the while.

My breathing speeds
and I turn
stuck in the consuming black.

I've reached the end of my days!
Tomorrow has never come, and I know
it never will!
I sit and wait for the sun to set, night's
humid breeze caressing my cheek with
silk touch, leaving a trail of goosebumps
that send a shiver down my spine.
Tomorrow will never arrive,
it cannot be!

Waves of distortion as these red eyes
catch aching morning light, a glimmer cast
into his irises until they dry and burn,
his head drops to his hands and a sob escapes.

The sun it goes the sun it returns
the sun it goes the sun it returns
the sun it goes the sun it returns
the sun it goes the sun it returns
the sun it goes,
the sun it returns!

An energizing sunrise!
Those bittersweet sunsets!
Each set in the molds of different lives
to everyone their specific smile or iconic laugh,
the ones that see as each of them are forced to see
due to the differing circumstances surrounding
their inhabited reality!

Tomorrow has never been, you have no proof!
On and around we spin, ruler in hand to
measure the meaning of a higher powers
light shining upon us, translating its language of
forgotten past and harrowing future.

In the middle of that vacant space in your head,
a spear pointing directly inward,
towards the infinite space still finitely contained.
Right in the middle, on the highest hill
next to the white rapids river
I am building my fortress.

I spend years digging my moat, deep and wide,
laying bricks side by side climbing ever higher
closer and closer to the sky and
farther and farther from the Earth.
A lifetime design to protect
my last spec of shining light.

Oh I know tomorrow never comes,
it never ceases, cannot end,
the light it glares and we turn to meet,
but it retreats, pushing us back to our sheets.
Time to rise and the classic
"I'm so sorry guys but i really
must go to sleep, could you please
keep it down?
I have so much to do tomorrow
and I swear on God himself
I have no time to waste!"

I have no time to waste
I have no time to waste
I have no time to waste
I have no time to waste

A feather falls slowly, arching downward,
swaying from left to right,
curving from side to side.
I rock my head alongside, tracing its path
as it floats on air so light so soft.
To reach and catch and hold its white
texture in hand
or to watch solemnly as it drops to the
ground?

Hephaestus’ hammer meets the Iron Anvil!
A gripping fire, I cannot shed its flame
I long to be and be on from
flipping downhill and and tumbling on.

Gray light becomes brightened by
a hidden Sun, a translucent mist
veiling that winking smile.

These motion blurred images of mine,
this spinning room,
Lines hovering and wavering, shaking.

Time it passes like water it flows
to a repository or blown to mist?
The times I miss when times have swung
I’ve seen the zipping wasp,
It landed on me and stung
I saw it swell I saw it welt
And I watched it zip away.

Stuck, caught in the middle of
thought-crossed intersections
of the city during rush hour.

Headlights veer and blind,
horns shriek loudly and people yell
Shaking their fists from their windows.

This is all fine, livable,
if not for the times where the cars
do not narrowly miss,
Or a driver swerves, distracted and remiss and
the cars crash, collide, and clog
the roads, making me wince.
The solid impact and burning flash of pain,
my forehead hit squarely with a wrench.