Time? The artificial ticking of the clock clock clock
Measures nothing
The muddy footsteps of the hysteric crying of lost meaning
These things are not real.
What is real is the green in a child’s eyes,
The bright rinsing sun and the cooling wind
Springy grass under foot and the desire to run until your lungs scream
And that first touch
it is so lonely here in time,
2:30AM in a downtown diner, whose fierce fluorescents chafe the streets with
soulless methamphetamine heat,
If I could resolve the correction factors and bring us together again
If I could end this tyranny of time and space and hate
If I could end this night
If I could once again welcome the bluing morning,
the sweet cooling breeze, the birdsong