(H)our Glass

Familiarity with time

so that time becomes family

it sits at both the kids and big people table

time tells the best stories

though it gets drunk on itself

and forgets everything in the morning.

Time’s a one night stand that stays forever.

Time keeps fucking your dead body long after you’ve left it.

Still, time is malleable so that you can reshape memories

over a few beers

in a circle of your lifelong friends

nicotine halos hover over your heads

the smoke stained ceiling tells the story of peer pressure and self abuse

and still the breath waiting to be used

still the blood to be spilled sleeps within veins

like a necrophiliac reanimating the corpse before fucking it.

(And I read poetry is dead.)

As minutes pass and the air thins from black to blue

midnight ink upon these pages

thoughts tattooed on the flesh of trees

how mean is the meaning of time

when weighing less than dust

we wipe like sleep from our eyes

running over crows feet

tearing into memory

a starving vulture devouring the living.

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