As Time Goes By

Computer reminds me at 3:00 AM to, “spring forward...”
well, it is only two AM but now it has to be three AM
and flimsy is this reason for time change, this holdover from the days
of Vasco Da Gama or the Reformation...so I stroll from clock to clock
to turn that little wheel or depress that digital button marrying timepieces
in my wee morning hours’ escapade...and my eyes roll in the back of my skull
and I grit my teeth until my gums turn a crimson red...I am dumbly still-burned
full of swish stormed by stomach knots, hawser rope pawed with pelican pooh...
shit-gnarl, I think I disapprove like a lamb about to be sheared to pure pink skin
this empty awkward edict this bar stool brainstorm of God-knows-who pricking
like knitting needles on tender skin (more in line with warm hands or other fleshy
delights,) but no, it just has to be, as a prowl of grief in which scream is necessary
yet the mouth is stitched shut with fishing line twine to where even eyes elongate...
I feel that emery cloth annoyance chafe my loins as sirens blare mocking otherwise
silences, waver from the weight of impassioned oppression, spasm on acidic spittle
trouncing taste buds cruel and awful...I am a crab in this predawn I am narrowness
harrowed by Hell’s wailing tearing tautly on sensitive anvils, I simmer on chilly tile
I am the cleave of broken shale the welt of bruise inflamed by lemon juice and salt...
Comets crash on human tundra--Heaven hunts with fire, with apocalyptic abandon
the whirl of sins and bullets blast white floats from ponds and placid estuaries...
time’s gentle meandering remains despite the ham-hocked hands of man.


21 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
3-9-15