Whistle off the Dune

there was a break
that’s what we said
we’re on a break
up from each other
only one of us
didn’t say it to the other
dreams and hopes left
dangling from the monkey
bars of sober awakening
break-up from time
that was her name, time
her parents hippy fans of
original Fleetwood
like a prediliction, almost
when you think about it
should have seen it
coming inside of her
now i hate time
slipping and slowing
at her leisure, leaving
emotional erections
which embarrass
because it makes me edgy
edgy and anxious, like a
man ready to really hurt
someone unsuspecting in that
most primal way, like an animal
without the biblical angels restraint
savage, terrible, with sweat and blood
and tears
tears of time
running down from waterwells
like the rock spoken to and struck
with the stiff bishoprick
now i hate time
more than she was ever loved
because of what was demanded
and not freely given
throttling her until she ceases that
flopping around like the seeking salmon
just needing release, release from
time, who arrives two hours late
surprising me with salmon sushi and
tin trays of wasabi which burn right through
releasing the anger and hostility of
what came before
and the rhymes and rhythms of music
time, who leaves me shaking
like a man who has had too much
caffeine or drink or both,
for yes, you honorable lords of new england,
i have been both in my time, yes
you queens of the italians and unbaked seeds
for i have seen the promised la-
and i have a dream and
time moves on
with such indeterminate slowness
that they let me out for good behavior
and served

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