img_6046The Walking Wounded
Step Round Me.
They, and I, afraid to touch our Half Lives.

Cautioned by the Sun,
“Leave space between your atoms.”
It advised, “Too dense a mass and you will implode.”

In lieu of “hellos” and “adieus”
“Ciao” and “tatas,”
We excruciate over
Time’s move—
a.m. to p.m.
and back again.

Fretting over issues
Of when moments came and went,
How memories got so quickly sore
Then even worse, infirmed. We look longingly for a place to rest,
A chair on which to sit.

No lounging here.

Perpetual motion, the rule.
Never wind down, for if it did, we’d have to
Call it quits,
Call it a day.

Mornings, noons, and nights,
Taken away,
Replace the Sun
With Dark.
Losing motion, all we’ll know is pain.