Time! San Francisco! You're No Fun!

I threw black holes into your eyes

to try to make your blinks last forever,

but your pupils swallowed them without difficulty.

Your glances had me feeling like a singularity,

small enough to hold everything inside.

There we were, after the big bang,

trying to cook up another one 

with what flints and birch scrapings we had.

There we were, in the rainy season,

evaporating the moisture from wood,

sucking the life out of rooms.

There we went, across the swirled waves

of outstretched stage-dive fingers,

dreaming of clock hands falling from volcanoes.

Time is waiting for us, darling.

Time waits for us, lets catch a bus

into the city

where they plant years in cement soil,

and let them flower flourescent orange into the black spaces.

Let's sing to the city

and let the traffic on the streets

pay homage to our veins.

Let's scrape twigs on our tight-pulled hair

until concertos peel off.

I've heard that screaming at the city stop signs

bounces beams of patience back through a man's skull.

If that's true, I think I'll waste my breath 

on One-ways.

Reviews

[Sydney]

I really enjoyed your references to space, I love reading it. I felt your heart in this. Your writes always remind me of a dance, beautiful from start to finish, with fast and exiting parts and then kind of slow and soft parts. It's always very refreshing to read, like taking a deep breath that fills your lungs all the way up.