Rocks know a lot more about time than clocks
Drive to the top of a mountain
Cinnamon gum
Noseblood
And rocks a lot older than clocks
Tell the older us we say hello

I am stuck between red rocks and a very hard place
Rockclimbing to rockbottom
I am a time hunter, rock hunter, pigeon hunter
(Let me tell you something about pigeon hunting:
Shooting clay pigeons isn’t as much fun when the pigeons aren’t clay
and their bodies shatter in midair like pomegranates in September
with red jewels sprinkling the sandstones
the sedimentary clouds and the fastfood signs)

Remember that time I tattooed the sky?
I wrote “time is a l.e.d. light” in a sacred heart
between the stars and the freckles and the ladybugs
none of their mothers were thrilled

Now I know time is a rock, a very heavy rock
A rock is a star, a star is a rock
And me? I am a rockstar
But I have all timers. Alzheimer's? No. ALL TIMERS
and a monolith growing on my sternum

Firecrackers. That’s what I wanted to talk about.
And when I say firecracker I mean fireworks
the way fire works his way between me, time and a rock
What is it with rocks?
Rock and roll
Rocked by doubt and rolled by time
Rock my world, please