The Piecemeal Man (abmann) wrote,
The Piecemeal Man
abmann

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Sundial

The knife so jagged in my hand
reeks of time lost with others. When I raise my hand
involuntarily before the cowed crowd
that I weep with several years of frustration.
I cannot capture that moment,
penetrated staring at a data-locked haven,
because it has already gone. We can only see
with clarity with our backs turned - the future rolling over us
like some slouching beast headed for
a clattering tea party in the wilderness.
The sounds lost in the brush are rejected time
and time again only to be rescued from the nothing
at the bottom of a river.
He, the savior, will call again. He always does
when faced with the long walk to the knife.
Frustration has reached an untimely crescendo
and the saved, stinking of future accordances
grasps at the athamé's hilt
that now gives the only accurate time.


My need for audio books has come about again. I lasted over a week on Zen but am listening to Liars for the 5th time. Thus, i am off to Barnes and Noble at the West Towne mall. I may be home late, depending on how good of coffee I purchase and if they have good modern poetry/ cheap books.
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