Six a.m. didn't matter

and I did'nt care much for seven.

 

Five was the time to be alive and slide down the

oily snakeskin back of indecision that

will buck you off like

an ancient dragon waking up with

the force of

15,000 years of fucking righteous anger

and lovers all murdered by time

and indifference.

 

There's only one snake in your ear and

it's a tired tale

for tired eyes

but its ancient and iron-clad

because the message never changes in

a relationship or out of it when

one wonders where the hours go that have split

the oddest of couples

like dried-out pine slabs under

the weight of a hydraulic wood-splitter.

 

Something always snaps 

and someone

always

hurts.