If birthdays didn’t make you older
If alleys were blind,
If you could drive
me anywhere
near insanity’s brink;
Or if time could march,
and the moon whisper
it’s forgotten lines
in blue octopus ink.
If scarce winds could dance,
where soft rains kiss,
or the brave stars wink.
If my neurons were,
in that thinking circus
of blown-fuse circuits,
the weakest link.
If man is a parasite
sucks blood from earth,
grieves igneous oceans
that once gave birth;
If venial sin is always the lesser,
and time leaves us dead in the dust,
I’m bound to make you my
secret confessor,
for time never sleeps
in your rust.
-Patti Masterman
shannon p. laws 