Carving Stone in to Time

There’s no where to properly bury a murdered memory

its not like hiding a body in this planet Earth

from the crust to the core there’s a definite distance

yet our minds are set to the skies

the mind’s eye sees infinite sunsets

off every sunrise

this prism of time

fractured in to pieces smaller than minutes sharper than seconds

carving our days in to dusks

till it dawns on us to cut the world in to 24 time zones

and start hour one in a town in Eastern England

and start counting up from there till we’ve circled the earth

and it’s always five o’clock somewhere

so let’s lift a glass to Fleming’s invention

where would we be without the creation of time?

and when would we be?

Deep inside our heads

where time is an abstract painting

designed by Jackson Pollack

interpreted by you

it’s always you o’clock

always

and what you wanted to bury

so deep within yourself

is more a part of you than your left hand

which you can cut off if it betrays you

while this memory lies like a dormant volcano

don’t look now

but I smell smoke.