Wednesday 10/01/2008 01:01:00 AM

Merchants of then. In stagnant dichotomies. The flood arrives. So we swim. Remembering how in fits of skin. Too similar to drowning.

She slips out of the handcuffs. Without him even knowing. It's not for time to determine. Those chokes of suicide of touch that turn love into words. Lies I told. To persuade tomorrow that it should wait. I would subscribe again. When. It had found. The wormhole I had warned it about.

Time has no line. Just too many colors. I can't see.

When you are old like I am you will want me again he threatens. When you are old, like you are now, I won't care, she counters.

Amongst all these decaying atoms the molecule is king. What is broken only exposes the smaller pieces. I'm bored of these simple puzzles. Of these obvious men. In the game of time travel years mean nothing.

I'll never be. As old as I was then.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2024. All Rights Reserved.