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Time-Slip

Philophobia

Poe's Alone

When I have fears that I may cease to be
   Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,
Before high-pilèd books, in charactery,
   Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain;
When I behold, upon the night’s starred face,
   Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
   Their shadows with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
   That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
   Of unreflecting love—then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

When I Have Fears

I've not been around you two
but I've been around the world 
and I've heard your romance 
told in several tongues 
in passing small talk, in jokes and limericks
in myths, parables, religious texts, and hymnals
but most of all in popular song

In Indonesia shadow puppets
tell your tale to gamelan gongs

And in Portugal there's a festival
where they mate two water dogs

While every year in Israel
Batsheva puts on a ballet 
in which the leads take your names

In Ireland they often joke,
"And my asscheeks are the ever embracing Kyle & Shauna!"

Meanwhile in Ghana
your Adinkra symbol, a two-headed fish, 
is found on wedding garments

And in Barrow, Alaska
they count down the sunless days 
of your monthlong tryst of hadal darkness

Then there's Atlanta 
Where Emcees spit to a beat called poly 
a breakneck hemiola 
your sampled pulses spliced up and volleyed 

And Akihabara 
Japan's Electric Town
Where they say your consciences were jacked
into some console in an arcade
before fulfilling a lover's pact 
to forever play the game

Epithalamion

Long are the shadows on your face 
Bruised in blue by the shade
And your sleep is long and late   

Long

I hardly knew the father, but I know the son
and he's the kind that only comes
from the greatest of natures and the warmest of nurturers.
Thanks for giving me such a wonderful friend, dear Bruce.

Dear Bruce

Punch in, punch out 
Day in, day out
Knurling on a lathe 
Flecks of silver shaved

I'm not here for the last line 
Nor to listen to you flatline
I'm not here for the last line 
Nor to listen to you...

Punch in, punch out
Day in, day out

I was a kid 
You were a king 
I was a kid 
You were a king 
I was a kid 
You were a king
I was a kid 
You were a king 

Punch in, punch out
Day in, day out 
Knurling on a lathe 
Flecks of silver shaved

I'm not here for the last line 
Nor to listen to you flatline
I'm not here for the last line
Nor to listen to you...

Your breath is so short 
But your words loom

Punch in, punch out 
Day in, day out

Knurling

I met my elder self today
Though not his eyes 
To spy them may have meant
Losing years of life 
And this coming time 
While unknown 
Will surely be worthwhile
So I stared at his mazy forehead 
And he at the jutting jetty
Where the ferryman waited

I met my younger self today 
Though not his eyes 
To spy them may have meant 
Reliving years gone by
And the time between us
While worthwhile 
Does not merit passing through again 
So I stared at the jutting jetty
And he at my mazy forehead
As we talked into dead ends

Harp by David Herzhaft!

Glimjack

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