It Could Have Been Any Other Hour. But It Isn't Poem by RIC BASTASA

2: 52 p.m.

it could have been any other hour.
but it isn't. When you open this page of
a book, you will say. ' i do not see any
relevance'
but it is.
when you open another page, you will
comment, ' is this guy serious? is he not
just gallivanting in the sentences of
his life? Does he not have other productive
endeavors, one which may change this
world of lies? '

this the hour of the breaking,
somewhere an ice is cracked, put in a glass
and it gives a clinking sound of
relaxing music

and out there beyond your hold a man
takes the glass of cold water,
drinks it like a shot of whiskey,
feels the joy of the sliding pleasure
in his thorax,

just that simple gesture of the hour
given to him as he goes back to his
work again,

between life and death.