Poem: Raspy Bray of my Heart…


The seconds, the minutes, the hours—
lay a chime atop the mantled fireplace,
My time—warped—fleeting,
is made out of reckoned breath—
breath pawned for,
so that Hade’s rent is never due.

I can’t be certain,
but just as an ounce of water stirring to boil—
assumes another state;
and reckons its soul is freed in pious ascent as steam—
so does my heart leap.

It leaps like the jagged spaces between clock hands,
wherein the infinities of my now, are wedged:
and laced to the seconds of time with little slithers of promise—
endless flutters of foreboding,
and in the faintest tick, in the smallest of silences,
I hear the raspy bray of my heart—
And this is what eternity sounds like—finitude


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