The destinies that question me
and the taught lessons seen as recipes,
if forgotten smoke from rotten ropes
could beckon me,
I'd follow.
Along with sheep and shackled men
singing life's song too steeped with misplaced ends,
when evening fades and gives way to day
I come to find,
I'm hollow.
I'm not walking on midnight future lawns,
Or dancing in dew laden sunsplashed past early dawns,
the ecstatic dream of now's in between
clasps hold of me
to set me free.
That's when the broken spine of backwards time
rips holes into the back of my mind.
the holes fall down to splash the ground,
which proves to me
all time is round.
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