The Short Notice

Subtlety, is shrouded in imperfections,
No passion in it’s blips,
Nothing to revel in
But the short gasps of air,
Suffocating from second, to second,
Gaining nothing, losing moments
That slip through the clips,
Everything said and done, even before
You opened your eyes from blinking,
Missed the opportunity,
Missed that part of the day
When all that matters to you, is lined up
So perfectly, to be washed away anyway,
And on such short notice,
We move through it all, to come out
Empty handed to the stage, laughed at
For not being on time and prepared
On such short notice,
You can’t hang on her word that dripped down
A mere second ago,
She’s on a different subject,
Lost in the conversation, not from intruige
But, from analysis,
She walks out on you
During your perplexing state
On such short notice, to be where you can’t,
You shouldn’t live for the moment, for it
Comes and goes before you notice it.


In Time

Time is irrelevant to the living dead,
But a measure by which we fall further
Into our own rotting pit,
Starved, and beaten by spiteful hands
That strikes in it’s own echo,
Bleeding moments into the forgotten,
Chasing inevitability in the closing distance
Where we find the still cock, waiting.

©DorianPoe 2015

Garden of Time

I slit the neck of time
As the wolf, prowls the town
Carrying with him, a stench
So fowl, it rots the stone of death,
A scream, far from where I stand
Vibrates the puddle that pools
My sweat, when the wolf
Corrals my sight,
Still, clenching onto the knife
Dripping moments, onto a scorched plank,
I feel a cold tremble, rising up my spine
As the wolf backs me
Into an eclipse, swallowing the sand
Flooding out of the shattered hourglass,
And suddenly that scream, vanishes
Into the gullet of the wolf
Howling, at the echoes of the clock.