Ripped in half

Another night behind the machine

decades of this

finding a way out by doing this

the fingers at the end of

the arms in your brain

stretch for infinity, for the feeling to be

captured by an image captured by words

sitting here again, waiting

always that

but also feeling the distortion

of it, figuring it out

after all this time

the sorrow and the fear

the worry

that opens into a type of sickness

and wonder

clean and untapped

hanging like a moon over

the keys to become

an Escher globe gripped

by a Dali hand

crawling with words

with your heart ripped in half

by the blood of your dead

who’s left this place

and forgotten

you

but also with your laughter

and victories

however big or small

all locked in the

same core

it takes time

understanding takes time

the sick deer in your brain

takes time

anything worth everything takes your time

your real time

the time

in your heart

the time you see

in the

eyes of dogs.