Friday 2/20/2009 12:18:00 AM

The calm man in his shorts. Fiddles with the open box. There. And there again. Flashbulbs and awkward fingers chart the course. Time in ripples. The ocean breathes its magic dust. And we sneeze another life.

Thighs chasing the pendulum. As it marks the map. With its perpetual course. The huff of the earth. The shrug of the moon. Little playthings in a series of judgements. The time line waivers. As we sip our drinks. It waits. To see how far we'll go. To arrange the atoms. Focus the explosion.

On the things that should have, but never broke.

Prying the hours from her fingers he discovered partitions he never knew were there. The whole divided. Independent sections. Overhead masks. For the dead to wear. Fail safes. Should she not come back. She could still find herself. By the smell of rotting men. And Tortoises with their toes on the finish line.

She turned off the box. And pulled it closer to her bed. She listened as it admitted it was an accident.Go, but don't try to come it said. You can leave, You can face all those malevolent gods. But not without a weapon.

Time is the last bullet I have left. I plan on using it.

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