lost o’clock by jezzini
but isn’t time just the carbon copy of a man-made concept brewed when a few thousand breaths twist their heads in reverse?
then there’s daddy hawkin saying time is an everlasting pie where its ending meets our cries & its purpose, don’t dare to fuckin’ ask.
some nights, when my minutes end their shift & my sighs wander adrift, i hear the clock spill its sins in pointless ticks; the way those seconds come climbing up these bones then diving down my throat in emptiness. in the grey & the low; in these words i aim to draw on the skins of poems screaming love with perfect rhythms but no blood.









