The clock always shows 4:40.
Simple man rings out
High above thousands of
Twinkling lights; motorways scoring
Horizons.
Our time together is finite, the curtains drawn across fine grain wood -
Planks in three lengths -
The stage light sun extinguished.
Love to me is fame.
Placated rhythms atop vacant halls,
Four chambers capture
******* phosphorus desire:
Compassion and feeling passed
Unlocked and bleeding.
I was once told, 'thinking does not mean feeling,' - but how can a feeling be interpreted in the absence of thought?