Last Updated on April 23, 2009
I manage time but still loose heart,
my brain vertigo hemorrhage of gravitons and gluons.
Hands whirl on a silver circle on the office wall,
timing the heart beats until Golgotha.
I smell the stench of veneer and hide in the cave of your atlantis.
Yet I cannot stop the goose skin death ticking of apollo’s paycheck.
Time itself is measured in sticky melted wax drawn on a wall with a smelly grin.
Yet, I always will wonder if your music will stop breaking tone and find the pitch to sit on my wallowed mellowed soul.