The Three-Minute Line
The sun is scraping the horizon now The light stretched long against the dark— a dog in its bed with one ear cocked a slow steady gaze like tomorrow Looking back along the road ahead a pivot point like the bolt in a shotgun a bent-back gaze like wild-eyed death A quiet rage of days pulling me back stretching the hours taut like water trapped behind a plug that stammers quivers finally lets go There's an echo in the silence a long drawn-out cadence a slow-bellied roll to escape We run and we run and we run and we chase the light to the horizon— a bullet over still water with no wake a steady shot like an echo in the dark There's a wetness there is blood there's a river that tastes like mud We run and we're gone and we don't stumble we defer Rattle of the bones Thickness of the will The three-minute line haunts me still I trip over the days like a puppet My strings pull taut and I wince The sandbag of my body flops like a hammer is buried in it Show me the silence and the sunless sky Show me tomorrow and ask me why this doom