Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.
Oh, where do the hours go?
Will we ever even speak again, like we used
to, like good friends should? Or will a nose be
turned and no words spoken as we walk back out
of each other’s lives. I sometimes wish I knew,
so that the time I waste wondering is not in vain.
In the shadow of yesterday?
Will they say this upon the grave?
Yet, that which was lost yesterday,
can be regained tomorrow,
again, so they say.
Do I understand?
Where is today?
The choice lays within,
the question mark of a new day.
My precious ally has found a new face
Not touched by grief, lack of sleep
And broken dreams.
Tracks are made for those coming after,
A life of white and laughter,
The milk of being.
Grotesque forms rise to the skies,
Heavens territory is ceded.
The old from consumption dies,
its ancient spirit depleted.
she bobs up
and down, violently
tossed by the waves, frantically
snatching rapid half-breaths-half-gulps-of-ocean before she’s
plunged ten feet
propelled back up, an insignificant
buoy caught in a
cyclone’s raging passion. his arms
grasp at her as
forcefully as a prayer expands out against
her chest, calling
for ocean to swallow the
naked groans and shrieks yanked
out into the unforgiving air—
a plea that she might
die this moment, escape
the body convulsing and writhing,
The cause of divorce one way or another
Who’s always accused of being a lover
Causing a rift at parties or work
I’ve walked along promenades
Been battered by the wind and the rain
Taken shelter in late night cafés
Drank coffee so strong
It made me shudder
I’ve read the beat poets so many times
But I never tire of the words
Of Ginsberg and Kerouak
I’ve watched black and white movies
Made long before I was a twinkle
In somebody’s eye