Remember the place where the time ran out.
Under tube-like glass bridges with no
shadows just bands of light that break
the sidewalk.
All the talk is in circles around
piles of rotting food, the underside of picnic
tables covered in layers of gum.
There is only one way things can go from
here. They’ve had it with the endless waits
and blurring years. Filling forms full of old
news along lines sprayed on under plastic.
Pulling back the strings unraveled at the
seems of the curtain. Making moments in
the future seem like memories without
origins in the now.
Dragging heavy metal so it scrapes the
ground behind you, leaving unedited traces
across the galaxy.
Teleporting Typewriter 