Time ticks
and then my mind ticks
and I see that it clicks
into place, but in a way
that breaks
and cracks
(everything else slipping
in between.
Even between my grasped
tight fingers)
Dripping Dali, am I
But I am eternal to be
drained from
I cannot prune up or clot
I just
Flow this way.
seeping, not seething
reaching out unsleeping,
am I
a black widow?
Spinning a web to catch
the droplets curling in the folds of
shadows spun that follow
over my shoulder secretly
they linger, re-liquefy
and boil down to a desolate moment
Is just Time the
proponent?
These things never add up
mathematically
Immediately.
Peace shattered, Time
gathered and spent up,
Blathered
We get so heated, defeated
over
a round earth of molten
core that melts to cool
pelts ice to pool, soft
rippling
shielding, revealing,
reflecting
The only real resurrecting
all these
Patterns, this precipitation;
cyclical saturation
What was it all
that we came together for?
What laughs we spilt. When all is said and done
do we realize we wasted
too much time mad
or not enough? What kind
of mad? Glad in recollection.
And it stops, now. I can’t
waste one more precious dew drop on my
displeased expectations.
Every small glistening is
a diamond wasted on a thirsty eye, unquenched by the brilliance of millions of
them
dancing across the sky
for ages beyond our grasp
of notion… this motion is so
Brief
Just a gesture, really.
Spun up by a spider,
stunned by Salvador Dali
Love and bless all like it
is the past come back
for a second chance, with
the foresight turned from your glad recollection, a reflection of the only
resurrection we have
sweet memories saved
from nature and time
transformed in rhyme
Like a spider caresses her
web of collected
water droplets, paralyzed
victims, and other things that may just
tear it all down or into
strips and pieces that
will hang and shutter on the wind, clinging frail
by a thread
The most tender hug of
softened life like a
Cob web left
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