Time

Temperate zones dripping with the ooze of temporary fasts
Are boiling over into the rut known as the global retail industry—
Push-pull demarcates the habitual estrangement from reality
And the web of constructed demarcations in the sand
Keep us from brooding in the mind of our savior, Jesus Christ.
For we strive to be humble, and take our time—Arbeit Macht Frei
Is the lie they told us from our immaculate conception,
Blessed in the Holy lands of days before lore,
Stepping in time with the very workings of our core,
Who among us blessed can say we are content?
With the passing of time strumming away
As the overhead LEDs flicker us into epileptic fits.

Restrain the urge to day-dream, keep yourself in the pit of phenomena,
For the underbelly of psychic discharge is a splaying of mind,
And with the clock ticking, and your mortal coil running out of time,
There is only one way to stop conception—
A new dawn into a new void.