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)