write against time
Write against time
the way a metal blade whittles
wood against the grain
rend and haw to the cord
until hands callous, club
taut on the nub.
Write against time
the way salmon charge
toward the inevitable
onslaught of death
refuse food, water
so the desiccated stomach shrinks
to the size of a
pin
make room for eggs, sperm
so turgid waters
flood fresh with spawn
drown and fade
spent
anchored to the mudflat by
the swollen kype.
Write against time
the way the hand holds the
plough
eye on the field ahead
stubborn and defiant as a
muzzled ox
let not thy left hand know
what the writing hand doth
left can rock or cradle
rob the grave, finger
the edges of the
empty tomb
while the other member
grips the instrument
to swath and churn
cull the upturned soil
fling out mould and weed in
clumps.
Write against time
while the planets runs their
course
curved, efficient
flung across the ether
in their harped and shuttled
grooves
’til the sun with starry
tail aflame is
snuffed
betwixt fingers, slick from
the wetted eternal tongue, upon the
ever-shortening wick.
© 2010 andrew kooman
