Life Going Backwards
Sunset to searing noon
Evening primrose folding in
And the hours march
In lockstep with eyes destroyed
Holding on to a rope.
Five O’clock, Four O’ Clock, three
The sun blows holes in every tree
Owning short shadows
Rocks drop and roll down a shaken hill
To kill the flames in the sky
That burn them to sand.
I am a prisoner of roar
The same insane bargain
Is made every morning
“If you get up
I will give your family food.”
I murmur in to the drain
“You don’t own me!”
Joshua Kight 4/15/10