The hours lag like dour tarantulas
Though the hands are moving
The fingers are crippled
The milk expires quickly
Why don’t moments of despair?
The vegetables keeping us alive rot rapidly
As if to escape the damnable earth which helped them blossom
So why can’t the would-be anniversary of a tragic romance end as quickly?
Why do we forge the hours on a decrepit dust clock?
For time does not exist and yet it is our cruel master
Sequestering happiness from the present and decaying romance in the past
In the miasmatic hovels where paladins wept and poets dreamed
I saw a god headed serpent with eagle eyes and reptilian formaldehyde skin
With great liquid estrogen oozing from her tainted lips like a Saturn lilac pistil
Dizzy cosmic reveries
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