the alarm clock is first to go; gives up the ghost
at witching hour and goes silent as steam for the morning
shift. the tulip tilted, toppled, fell from the goldfish bowl
to puddle carpetside. no one yells opa when the plates
break their faces on the tiles. someone’s watch stopped
ticking at the moment of the death. it’s just a battery,
but that’s true of us all. elastic gives out at the moment
you need it most and when i forget underwear, it’s never
on purpose. life spreads honey on the gears;
all we can do is go about smelling the sweet and knowing
it will destroy us in the end.
in case you couldn’t tell, this is an ode to broken things.
i’d be a person who could relish the glue if i could, that
sticky solution. i want an ode to the duct tape, the tensile
ties, the zip strips. to super glue and taffeta and taffy and
twice-chewed gum. to cobbled together and piece mealed.
take the clock, the unchained swing, the dying goldfish
to the repair shop of the sea. salt water will heal the wounds
of drowning. in honor of the mending, i break and
break again upon the swell of your wintered hip.
Image taken with iphone
Words written on the bed
Time Taken under 10 minutes
Brain on today’s erotica convention
Ears on the heater