BYOB

There's almost 12 minutes
for the sun to fall,
shatters like glass on the jagged
grassy meadow
green with failure,

some gigantic miniature
fragile ball shoveled to the brim
with molten light,
burning frost coated promises
of further eons and possible futures,

into the dizzying-distance
of unfurnished time,
close those eyes and...

wait...

wait for it to make its final descent,
with man following obedient,
into the unforeseen age of decisions,

uninspired.

walk close to the shore on those
soft rocks you love,
that break under foot,
with every crushingly unconscious step,
I'll reap the rewards
of your bloody bruises
ever wandering
over the seat and table cafe,
over the street,
under the blue and white
patterned umbrella,
blocking out the clouds.