I knew in time you’d come. With time, the smell would come.
It’s no more than what I’ve known. The smell of people alone
Could turn my stomach. That odor, of salt, and wet decay
Makes my flesh crawl. People do not consider it, let Alone
Their actions.
No matter how they try to cover themselves,
No flowery scent can hide from me the truth.
I know what is inside them. I’ve heard the ticking heart.
Seen flowing rivers of mashed fruit, melting into liquid streams.
The gurgling churn as organs move it along the seams, on and on.
Until it does not move, I
Know. I have seen the ticking stop. Heard the gears halt. Felt the end.
Seen them sit where they find themselves, and Melt like fettered wax.
I sit alone.
Time was always the enemy in my work. Decay
Does not wait for man. The office desiccated my heart.
And when white dust waited upon the departed,
I drained them. Suited
Them. Dressed them.
Prepared them for sleep, in starched clothing.
I was efficient. But today, the stiffs gave to Me
The truth. That my heart was a desert.
That my hot air would turn, cold.
Another day I’d never see, even being not that old.
I had worked so long with stiffs I could not see
The difference
‘Tween us any longer. I had played their games.
I had rolled their bones. And shuffled their clubs
And spades. Sought diamonds, yet found no heart,
Only sand. Blasted away. The grind makes
Sand of us all, In the end.
How long can any man make ashen wealth
Of widows’ mites? Some until the time ends.
Me, only until the day before.
My time was sand.
It poured through a glass, many grains, unique
And the same. Unable to change fate. A vacuum
Left behind, of my parts, my palpable memories.
I am the dead. As are we all. And the burden of knowing
Became mine.
I sit alone
In my apartment tomb. There are two chairs; one for me,
One for my coat.
Beside the broken table, fallen a year ago,
I dressed myself. Prepared for the sleep.
My sand ticks it’s last in the glass, where I wait for you,
I watch, as I have always, through the glass
As people pass far below. Uncaring, they drop Remains.
They pull their coats against the cold
And trade their time for pleasure.
I know no pleasure. I
Know not you. I Sit
Beyond the glass. Memory remains, Alone.
I hope you see. Choose to see
Read Moore 