The Roman

I been laid out on the floor
from the passing of time
I kiss my palm to see if it's awake
and I noticed the absence of any signs
I broke my leg three months ago: dousing
that candlelight with wine
Snagged and caught my elbow on the shell
knocked to the floor my collection of weeping Augustine
Dutifully
I remember Donna as she was 3 months ago
and most faces get lost in the haze
Clutch this tacky caricature of you to my chest and
remember that Carthage was covered in a smoky haze
a Mimetic haze
The automatic and justified response
to a crude and graceless age
is to run away
to keep running and fleeing and greeting and holding and beholding
your love
still man: why did she have to go?
my ENEMY is time