morning death

401/1998


the clocks hands
are nothing like his are old
and in the way
back to day one
no prize for trying
it doesn’t count
backwards spin
the wheel turned now
facing the east
wind blowing
out the match made here
what he has to say
gets lost or something
and they leave him alone
he must somehow payback
to one day he heard the song
sing these words
could really only dream
to be what he really wants
he hasn’t found the map
and as for the treasure
remains buried deep as the sky
is wide eyed in the morning
the death of yesterday. . .