the calendar pages
have dropped to the floor;
the appointments have all
come and gone
and there’s nothing to do now
but wait
while the ocean and moon
swallow time

and I’m deaf
from the howling inside
and the silence
pretends it’s alive
while it slowly devours my mind –
leaves my fingers to ache
as they clench and draw blood
from my palms

and the days and the nights
are like ballast
that shifts
and breaks loose
in the hold
on a ship that’s been listing
too long
from the weight
of its unbalanced frieght

but the tides never cared
for the trifles of man -
it’s the sand and the dunes
that they crave;
eroding with each passing day
the contours and lay
of the land

as time oozes past
like molasses.