Genre: Rhyme, Life
Fontanelle
Clocks have been stripped from all walls
as well as all forgotten gods
in an orchestrated effort to disorient us all
in the cylindrical silver corridor where time abides
in its own loneliness almost absent at this time
Even the eyes of my eyes cannot trace
how long it has lasted & how far it will stretch its
long thin limbs It is not available for questioning at this time
At this time we cannot say or guess
the trajectory of flashes on/off
to open wide eyelids & shut them down again
The space between seconds is
interminable unbearable at times & the length of
my spine immeasurable this moment
The crown of my head quietly lifting off
of its own volition
Fragile circle of my fontanelle The point of gentle
pressure from below The tiniest bit of dust is
all I am capable of carrying…
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