Lost in the ticking of a clock
the errant sounds of night
fallen deep
And she in the other room
oblivious
dreaming
You try to sit still
take a moment
to be yourself
You want to plunge
a hand into your chest
snatch the heart out
of it’s bone chamber
Because there’s got to be
another way to live
Something other than
commerce
Something less like cattle
and more like soul
But still you sit
in this late-night
kitchen
Listening to the clock
and other ticking
Blood dripping on the floor
your heart in your hand
a gapping hole in your chest
And you think …
“Great, so know what?”
(D. James)