moving heads up, feet up,
moving heads up,
feet up.
Sometimes they want me
to push them, they want
to move faster, faster
but I refuse, my body worn
from life.
I do not see the clock's hands
buffer round and round
past our crowning
moments.
I do not see the clock's hands
creep below the ground to
loosen one by one
all the bolts that hold us
there.
Mindless, I decline to push them.
Mindless, I read the book
I could be reading now instead
of then.
