A TRIBUTE TO TIME, TITS & TENSION

HOURGLASS

When the day is done, I turn off my brain's chatter
And pace through dark, drafty corridors,

Skin soaking in neon blue and orange light.
Trapped, mindless and numb, at the violet threshold,

Waiting here in the shape of warm flesh and bone,
For some elusive, overwhelming urge to action.

Excess of thought wastes the spontaneity of youth,
And a bleeding hourglass responds only to gravity,
Emptying itself of every last plummeting grain.


A belly says to feed, so I gorge,
A tongue says to wet, so I drown,
A mind says escape, so I inebriate.

I am this corporeal vessel mired in quick sand.
Days, weeks, years flash by and disappear into inky infinity.
A voluptuous simulacrum in the mirror stares back with no answer.


(A work-in-progress...)