13 minutes from sunrise,
i have carved out time in to
the shape of a bird, and no it is at
market, instead of drifting down
the
upper Niagara, this is not the
sweep of the second hand here,
it is not
a small sun rising stationary in the
east marking me greedy for life
it is more abstract than that it is
blood dipped on paper and
burned, it is my sacrifice to the
only divinity I have known, it is my
heart
at the heart of property and to
cut it out would stop the sun from
rising, and push me from the
coast of my being in to what...
eternity?
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