Evanescence

An omnipresent specter possesses my clock:

its lopsided hands embrace my evanescence

like former lovers from a lifetime before.

As time holds my clock

captive in its passion

sometimes too light, sometimes too tight,

sometimes too pendulous,

but never out of sight:

Eros, Philia and Agape wrinkle away

in cold, cruel cellars.

Their cathartic invocations

grow elastic and oscillatory;

thus banished forever

into a ponderous life.

A heavy hollow drum stands in for the mirror image.

Fleshy mallets batter its membrane, as

Oil droplets drench a stack of hay, and

Recycled bullets pierce through crystals

glistening with greed till the dust calls everything back.