The hollow waste of Time’s displacement, seen
Within a fool’s disgrace, replaces mime
With hunger’s sorrow, emptied, and obscene.
For in the haste of tasted moments, rhyme

No more can fascinate. Cruel are hours, past
And present, feeding words to warped disease,
Starving mental introspection, amassed
Within to suffocate. Time unseen leaves

Unknown versions of a self -- incomplete.
When fool defeats the sense of purpose, Time
Announces annexation, loses beat,
And, wasted sorrow weaves its fate. Sad mime

Of spatial time-attraction, counters renter’s
Proud-cored cover, giving up -- epicenter.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 5/29/05