so this is how it feels
to be all of a sudden so
grandfather clockless
with no steady
hands to guide us
from the one to the
three, no crossing of
paths, almost by chance
at 12 noon or 2:10
or 3:16; no one to
dust off my sleep,
and say that is
enough, or pack
up the tears, and
say this, too,
shall pass –
meanwhile
the drunkard
known as
time takes another
swig of death
and passes
out in an
unmarked alleyway
.
20100223:2329
y