Like untying a knot with honey and
motor oil fingers
Mixed so that the sweetness is no
longer edible
The gold and the black swirled into
a cacophony of clumping words
Time stiffening the loops into a
tangled nest where nothing hatches
The cache becomes a bastion for
cuckolds and spilt ice cream cones
Children indulge in whimpering under
a stoic sun
Adult comprehension is always late
like what to do after the period
Is not where one expected
Hands become paddles or pariah nubs
motioning memories
Of times around midnight, bars, and sheets
Crosses on necks and white bleeding
out doorways
Screaming like a man knowing he will
be broken in two
The universe stabbing in subtle
songs like ghosts laughing on iPod shuffle
Opportune interpretations of passers
in the hallway
Time abiding at the proper speed
which appears slower than human request
That each side makes a choice and
without the counterbalance
One will never know the definition
of regret
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