Time And Objects
by celine charcoal
this had not been before,
now lies as present,
fulfilled with the lack of time.
the pen that has just been
drifting me beyond the fingers feel ashamed
all the time of all the reigning
damage it caused.
stabbing counts as more writing abolished in
intended crimes as published evidence
rituals in socially established astonishments.
the shits went over nowhere.
this creek smiled over nothing.
this ship sails no one.
there is the end
this never is.