¨The Currency of Time¨
The currency of time passes through sleeves and starched collars
through gorges, cleavage and gripping fingers
Stirring the restless, the quiet
the forgotten forgetfuls and troublesome kind
It clears paths over flat land and bare backs
garnished with bread crumbs, fresh flowers
and the beating hooves of wild boys
gnawing the ankles of the men
they shall become.
