How can it be


This inviolable succumbing for nourishment
on the table and in bed, how we fucked up
time for a couple jolts 
of stillness.
True nature was rotting away in our
bodily fluids, losing ground on
our depraved bodies, movement became
a repertoire without the chance of being 
caught on something real.
We lusted after the smell of decay,
every greedy draw of breath felt 
like a small, beautiful revolution
on that fleeting
mortality.

And now, from this diluted life
I try to breath
like then 
but time persists 
in being what it is.