Time and Space” by Brisbane Falling (CC BY 2.0) <Desaturated from original>

The Days

They bleed
into each other like

accidental teardrops
on my watercolor

landscape, leaves
blending into chocolate

trunks, piercing eyes
melting into the flesh

of noses. Sometimes I
can see the creep of stealthy

numbers and age, skulking
along the lines down

my calendar. The path of
the sun is a crooked

groove that once determined
the paltry number of candles

on a young boy’s birthday
cake and

now grinds the
features of his

youth into oblivion. Routine
inspires a sudden cold dread,

a sooty surprise
in the toe of a

worn scarlet stocking. The
days flow together, faster,

faster. Am I done
fearing the subliminal

deliquescence of time, each
season’s leaves rotting

into the next?

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