Choking on hourglasses
full of sand and nothing
else. The sweltering heat until your skin becomes leather.
I'd rather swallow shards and rubber and
jars of black bottled ink
than be a part of the big wheel that never turned.
Spinning the water, riptides of salt.
It's spinning for everyone else, and without me
on it to slow it down.
Enough empty days and my heart will rest.
Or enough little candies mixed with
liquid like gasoline and the rest will turn to sleep.
It's easier when you stop counting
each individual second. Each grain of sand
falling down like snowflakes in hypothermic
temperatures. Like vertical lines on a horizon.
Like a pink bathtub. Or a broken toaster.
Or metal the size of a fingernail, hitting teeth and throat.
Teeth falling out from gagging and nicotine. The slow way out.
Too slow for me. I'd rather put on my best suit and tighten the belt, fitted to the last rung.
Perhaps I'll eat some cake. First the guillotine. Then I'll forget to shut the oven off.
Running to the store till my legs give out. Cross the street for some near misses. Then contact.
We're back to shards and rubber.
Just park instead. Take a rest, the engine will be here when your eyes are too tired to open.
Resting easy.