The Past, Refracted



Swallowed the clock

Now each tick wants blood

I'm a time bomb, baby

But you knew I was



Had a low opinion of most others

Had a low opinion of himself



This roachclip, a relic

From times spent broken

A token from the days spent smoking,

wasted,



if there is such a thing



tangential philosophies of self

scrawled on napkins and crushed

ATM slips

down to his final four dollars,



he's retained his grip



propped up like a drunk in a booth at Roy Rogers

like some reclamation project