"ticktocktick" poems
[you the drug] murmurs to my lips.
the visions pound: a deep
bass [pushing and pulling]
shooting up:
the memory, passion, a high,
the feelings,
(and touches, lingering
slipping into empty
wisps of air)
uncontained, unrestrained,
ticktocktick: [we the clock] that
doesn’t sleep, doesn’t slow,
doesn’t forget.
(being itself a point of reference,
uncontrolled unrelenting time,
being a point of origin,
weighing me down in
the churning waves
in the pounding bass)
[we the clock] that loses me,
that consumes me,
that (being itself a reference)
is unreadable and blindingly
invisible
[clutching sand].
The [ticks of memory] bring
tremors:
the bass pulsing nodes
into my skin, (pushing me into
the drug,
drowning me in the frenzied,
methodical
ticktockticktickticktick of the clock.)
[me the ****** longing and desire]
I cling to [we the clock], love every second
minute, hour. The echoes of the
thrashing
movement of empty time
in the ticktock tears [me]
(kicking and screaming, locked in my head
behind a wall of miles, distance seeping
through the cracks.) from the visions
from [you the drug],
from the bass,
the addictive additive
to living:
You.
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 5:25 PM UTC