Time is an axis convergent
to death, one way with definite direction
So many thousands of years and no one ever
ran it over backwards
No one ever was planted in the womb a second time
a fetus to rest in its bag
lullabied to the heartbeat
of its mother, and unsuspected to come out
to this world again, ready to cry over
but this time more moanful, louder, more certain
for its corruptible body.
in the cozy chamber of night.
It will gunfire by accident
filling the sky with Pleiades.
I am shining from within
bleeding from outside
showering me with poems
and morning migraines.
spit the lyrics
but the taste of the poem
*From the collection “Sunrise over nothing”, Plan B Press, 2018.