Time like . . .

.

There is time like there is

a carpet or somebody

knocking on the door. The battle

rages in a chaotic frenzy. People

cave into fears as if that means

‘maturity’. There is no time like there is

no permanence other than God.

Stimulation and bleeding gums.

Sit down, run your hand over your face. I will

run my fingers along your jaw line, your

brow line, and trace a constellation. Be my

instrument, expose the terror I cautiously keep. Call me

a hypocrite and then forgive me,

avenge me for my mortality.

In heaven, the Earth is a vegetable left too long in

the fridge. In the mornings, I am lonely but want only

to be alone. Your breath howls, sometimes I can hear it

when you think you are sleeping. Those times I would rip

across any void just to clean your blood. Time is

laughing at us, because we’ve touched the flesh of freedom

and everything after that wears on our skin,

groaning, growing

as instant madness.

.

.

.Copyright © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

First published in “Tic Toc poetry anthology”, June 2014