Time Gets Drunk

Time whispers get me drunk.
The hours are like rooms,
I circle endlessly,
And the doors open only once,
And go nowhere.
Get me drunk, cries time,
Toss all the clocks in the woodshed,
Cuff all the outlawed watches’ hands,
Take the grandfather clock off life-support.
Sighs time,
I want dawns without sunrises,
Afternoons without teatime.
I want chaotic birdsong
To keep us awake at night,
The morning newspapers to never arrive,
The trains to wait in the station
I want confused crowds milling
In every city,
Waiting for the doors to open,
The elevators to rise,
The truant day to let them in,
Waiting until boredom dies,
Until the parks, at last, have filled with lovers.
Drunk time slurs the hours
The minutes
The beginnings and the ends.
With each bottle,
The knots in the universe unravel.

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