A Machine, For Time

Ronald Mallett
I know you
as I know James Tate.

And now, people known to me…
Jess, Kevin,
whipped through
this same centrifuge.

We are on
the edge of forever.

Know that
we are running like gerbils,
in this same
recursive loop.

I wish I could talk
to you.

That our running
could intersect, and –
perhaps – our feet would collide,
we could trip each other up.

And awaken
from this horrid dreamtime.

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About Martin

I'm just... filling time.
This entry was posted in Fathers, Loss, Obsession, Poem, poetry, Sons and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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