THE DREAM

Our clocks are violent machines inserted by our own hands into our hearts.
All seems well when you're holding a baby in your stomach who wants to get out

You're counting time, realizing time and all seems well
Until the baby will need to
LEARN
time in the very same hands that hold her.

4 o'clock in the morning you don't get up,
if you do
Your heart starts pounding
That's the night.
And about the 4 o'clock
That's your hand pounding your heart
Someday that same hand Will take your heart out
You will travel between and in between time
Whatever that means you will learn
You will learn about travelling
But there will
NOT
be time left for you to learn
and comprehend and apply anymore.
ANYMORE
Will only be a word left out from your ears,
your hands will not feel this world.
Father
You would say
Father
Tell me about your hands
How do they feel
Do they feel the time of my heart that's still beating
As opposed to yours that's not.
No, not mine, not my father, thank GOD.
It's his father.
So it's only sad.
Only sad for me.
It's not pulled out my heart like it did his.
Though
I do remember talking to my grandfather through my heart
One night
Fast asleep and not aware of time
No time left in dreams
No clocks violating

Your red crusted slippers over pink linoleum floors of that long forgotten candy house in your dreams. Houses don't have clocks in your dreams.
In this dream your grandfather
Whom you've never seen before takes you on a ride.
I look at my watch the sun is just about to rise.