In Any Case

Dangling time before you
as though the passage of time
were tangible evidence of decadence
appearing now on a soggy paper plate
in a display case. As if.
I'd rather time appear to convulse
elegantly in order to illustrate
the intoxicating effects of smog. Please note:
I am hereby absolved of any reductionism while
sincerely standing on the warm milky streets.
Think about it: all the panic in a day,
all the rotations of blood through
a thick body on a hot morning,
all the shedding
of hands onto other hands.
We're wearing each other. Vibrating
under the sun disc, breathing in the other,
the dust of the other, the cast-off parts,
the pure oblivion of sensations that we can't
do without. Anyway, I really like you,
your style, the affection
you show when things turn sour,
and all the other complexities of now.
Perhaps one day we can mistake the sun
for an opening and go there.