Is there yet able faith here?
Or is time too much to bear?
Hang a clock in the living room
and remove another guest
Hear no pure walls speaking silence
Only hand clicks
filling the little room left
Every ****, every drink mixed
Every ****, every line
Every death, every heartthrob
leads right to the end
Whittling soft skin
from your memories
from your projections

When I die I'll hear the wall clocks
leading me through blind passages to you
and the others, using the timing
to jump back in.