Famished Time

Barreling out of Detroit, two hawks

higher. All the bloated deer

with spindling legs and broken necks

lower. The funeral was an intimate affair.

An outsider's glance is worth what exactly?

I drove the car hard – 80 mph

when the music was right.

And the music is always right.

Play it. Drive it. Taste it.

Softer sweetness in cotton

candy disintegration – I make it home in time

to make time

for the one who spends time

staking pathways

in sand grains funneled 

in the head-over-heels


Ah tick-tock / ya don't stop / to the / tick-tock / ya don't stop

As a woman who is figuring it out that she has always had it figured out, she seems to suggest that her nakedness is part of seeing this though. And dearest timekeeper, she promises not to eat you until the end.