If you talk about time too much your
Brain will hurt from the lack of true
Circumstance –when you realise nothing exists
It makes it easy to wonder.
The very next second is about to crash into our skulls
And brandish itself there like the black power of a
Burnt fuse, or the tormented tissue of scars.
The slide of the second, its birth mark,
Remains in my head. And that's where it stays.
It will not move, it will not change,
It goes and goes and goes and goes and goes and
I agonise the loss. When out of my sight you only exist
As injury to my head. A dysfunction, abrasion.
Every moment without you, darling, I'll
Claw that wound and open it out,
Bleeding the music of you, almost over my lips,
All in my head.
Stationary, lay on the bed. Time-travelling.