Saturday, December 17, 2016


by the stroke of midnight

the door won't close in summer --
swelling like a woman
caught in the noose of heredity.

if time travel becomes reality
fill your lungs with air --
and be prepared to hold it for a million years:
we are all of us alone.

that year it was so dry the turtles
became refugees on the move.
Wait by the waterhole -- they will come.

if time travel were a possibility
we wouldn't have to be here --
we could invent new modes of life before
they coin the term.

A woman coils around the bedpost
Beckoning, with pallid arm, the skeleton abed;
"Get up," she says,
"Or I'll make the dead dance."

Time travel a reality
I yawn her grey hair black,
blunt white teeth,
forged on the anvil of heredity,
give me a warm smile.

Time to get up
But someday we won't have to.
Then we'll sit back, think about
what we really want to do with our lives.

And when time travel is affordable
We'll visit those places,
We'll have time to remember we
want to go.

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