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

*See more real authentic poetry here:

https://medium.com/@haroldpstinard