Killing Time
In some moods, I would kill Time.
I would trample it underfoot
Like an unthinking beast
Intent on some other prey
Uprooting wild flowers along the way
Or crush it under the cheek
Of an ardent springtime lover
Hedonists unaware of the ants
Crushed by our dancing steps
Once, I killed Time like a vengeful lover
Home earlier than expected
Afterward, my secret special place by the river
Splattered with consequence in blotchy arcs
As all meaning sprayed out of the wounds
I gouged into Time
With a bamboo brush and a fistful of ink
Staring at two unused tickets
Shrieking out into the night, "What have I done?
"What have I done?"
But now, with this fresh new avatar,
A locked door and no one to call me for dinner
With cold methodology and ice in my eyes
I shall kill Time like some film noir mafia assassin
One shot to the head
Executioner style
Followed by
The careful hours of cutting meat and bone with a hacksaw
A long quiet drive down deserted roads
Leading to uninhabited places, chunks of Time
Wrapped in plastic sheets, clunking together in the trunk
The soft swirl of a mixing rod in thickening cement
The funerary tune of the crickets from the other side of the river
Swept in through the preposterously tall door
As a curl of steam rises from the hood of my car
I shall murder Time and leave no trace of what I've done with the corpse
Save perhaps a small bit of cigarette ash on an unnamed dock
Where once you might have heard a kick
A long rattling of chain against wood and a splash
Then silence and emptiness
Where once lay the cold dead remains
Of a history, and a possible future