Time is an
interesting abomination.
I covet the moments when
nostalgia casts a hook in me
and reels me into memories.

The smell of reckless,
youthful abandon.
Of budding love,
person or preoccupation.

Time constantly reminds me
that it is running out.
That I am careening
toward the future.
Dreams and anxieties
color the creases
in my face and
newfound frailty
in my joints.
My mind is now
a colander with
too big holes.
This lets me know
I am also for the
grave.

That I will get there
by way of life.

Continuity comes with time.
As does a realm divided.

There are those
I long to see,
and those who will
eventually await me
where the world has
passed them by.
And there are those
I will wait for,
still as time
and everlasting.

We will gather,
the eternally young
and the newly,
beautifully old.
And those in between.
And we will laugh
with the corners
of our mouths
tucked around
cigarettes.
Whiskey in very old
and very silly glasses.
Many drugs without
consequence and malady.
Only alleviation and joy.

Maybe there will be
heavenly houses
with couches to crowd on,
with guitars and saxophones
and game systems to play on
where we fill lobbies
to our heart’s content
and never again
go offline
forever.

Your mother will come
out of the kitchen
and share a draw.

Then we’ll drive
to the mountain
and scribble on
the asphalt with chalk.

We’ll lay
in the middle of roads,
drunk, holding hands,
and rolling beneath
the stars.

We’ll keep the TV
on all night.

We’ll smoke your and my
entire pack of cigarettes
and then buy more.

We’ll love each other,
yet never say it.
Hug with the brittleness
in our toxic bones
and store it in
the memories of our phones
to eventually live life buried alive
on cold drives password protected
by the grace of our headstones.