Space & Time

Codeine rocking chair and August moon 
all broken like my back tooth
or which ever one’s nerves are showing
beneath the undulating waves of throb 
flooding all –

the split-second of non-pain between pulses 
is a sample of God’s welcoming hands 
or a timepiece ticking toward salvation
with the haste of erosion –

but by the time those clouds cover that imperfect orb and
alleviate the moon’s discomforted jaw
my ache will have abated – my gibberish prophesy –

just the birth of Christ to the fall of communism
until my messiah drips happy blood into my gums –

today
has seen empires rise and fall
while waiting for the amnesty 
of a mild opiate peacemaker –

when he finally arrives
the past                        present                         and future 
are perfect

and I assume
always will be.


Angela Compagnone



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