clocks

all the clocks are melting
like i'm living in a
salvador dali painting.

even the metronomes can't keep time.

each carefully measured step,
filled with uncertainty--
conductor-less.

these days are unplanned phrases.

heart beats are telling
signals of tempo
with which to guide plans.

i have lost track of time.

it's better to just breathe,
in three part harmony
with the wind and the moon phases.

all of the clocks are melting.

somehow i get lost
and forget to keep
time when i am with you.

maybe

maybe there's too much on the table.
maybe decay has set in.
maybe we just didn't have enough time to finish and it's too late now.
maybe trying will make us sick.
maybe that's the way it's supposed to be.
maybe we've had enough.
maybe there's no room for more.
maybe we don't even want more.
maybe that's ok.
maybe.

thanksgiving

my stinging eyes see blurr-ed edges of tiny cities made of empty promises,
and all the little people, eating someone else's sacrifices, sitting at their tiny tables whilst their minds roam.
they are inside their tiny houses.
today they feast and give empty thanks.
tonight is for libations and debauchery.

my blurr-ed mind stings with slight reminders of empty promises.
and all the little notes, their tiny words meaning-less and less, ignite my collection of tiny sacrifices.
they are scattered on my torso.
today they smolder in my vacant chest.
tonight is for breathing without lungs.