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Published:April 29th, 2008 17:12 EST
Time Torn

Time Torn

By David Richardson

Meander on by,

A little Satori,

A kick in the eye,

Oh, don’t worry baby

I won’t cry.

.

Another Herculean fight,

just to get through to the

cryptic side of another

bankrupt and moonless night.

And somehow forget

the locomotion

of the massive shoulders

of dawn;

when I lose a little of the best of me;

for a fleeting,

forever gone,

stand-still

moment

That I refuse to let go of,

in a symphony of will.

At the cost

of another forgotten breath,

or another light that might have dimmed

among the mahogany

of that last fight sinned.

And forget it now;

empty soul, bar-room death;

or adding

another scar

to this blood-soaked

paperback,

filled with Haikus

and marauding news;

spilling from page to page

and staining the broken

spine,

and obscuring all the blurbs

of some

worldly caged,

high-tower sage,

who could never, after all,

mind his mind, or think,

for his pen is broken

and run dry of ink.

And the Dostoyevskian

truths

silently jerk and pull

down

some dejected alley

of someone’s broken soul;

or a dream you no longer

belong in;

seen through the

time-cracked lens

of

our

9 mm

lives.

And the

clicking,

clicking,

clicking,

that never stops;

as the humid,

tepid

breeze

carries away

the little bit

of you

that somehow

always survives.