Tracking Time


I would steal time if I could.

However, time would come back broken…

Even more misunderstood.


My father bought time.

And, put it in his pocket.

Just like the Rail-man who shared a cot with father’s mother.

And, later in life…

Time took that handed down watch…

And, removed it from her lover.


Crazier than making every second count.

Father time will pass.

With diamonds littered in gold…upon his wrist.

And, the years that have passed will remain ill controlled.

Yet, there will be no final kiss.


I have learned only insanity from grasping at the Old Man’s passages.


that a stop watch that cannot be fixed.

Robs time.

From time to time.

With a bit of borrowed daylight.

Paid for with someone else’s savings.

All leading to a bed of malicious habits kept together by lonely cravings.



Labors of Love


Sometimes…a good run from a far away time.

Yet, those were remote lands in a yesterday rhyme.

Moments in what seemed the last of the sunshine.

Pensive walks are the current trend.

Lying in wait…for games of pretend.

Looming behind rock garden walls…with imaginary friends.

My father once told me…

“Eat from the single wild berry.

Collect a few friends…not too many.”

Course…he is a violent man

and…one never knew for certain…

his motives or stance.

Seems I will be running forever…whether with speed…

pitfalls of heed

or severed needs.

running 2 running 3