Now
I wait
for you,
morning.

Charged with death, reborn anxiety and hope.
You, that is this veil
consume and tear the places,
layers, of this mortality,
its masks.

Dropping the guises
running naked
into the truth
sentences lifted from prison,
constructing quantum notions of time...

...It takes a moment to fill a page
with several dimensions.

But what do you say?
Pretty boy gone, old man
what's your line?

Each progression tremoring across your fingertips.
Remember when a terrapin died in centrally-heat controlled
science class for you?
How you found out, to you on horror, that winter
only existed outside certain places,
Like where you learnt things?

Life has that "I'll be back later"
quality
edging closer to the end than you are at the beginning.
and it raises the question:
why rise, why if this is that day to end all days,
the mother of all ends
(not unlike their beginnings, and such)
why is blood thicker than water,
I thicker than you?

We, in slavery to exploitation...are we?
a mass - a mass of calcium
filling the voids existant
between the atoms
comprising a dog biscuit?

There I hold you, my 8 o'clock
(your 8 o'clock is here)
and ask for more time,
finish coffee, whatever, up you go
snivelling toward destiny.

This is me, this is you
it is time
to sing: "8 o'clock!"
and time
is up
for the sun to rise
as life's contestants have a nagging doubt
now the time has come.
 

24/12/01