The ticking clock is the song
that metronomes my passage.
I am a time trekker, peripatetic
nomad. Who can say where
I will lodge tomorrow
A cough can condemn
me to the gallows. Sunday afternoons
I am homesick for a place or time
to which I cannot return. Hireath?
A home that never existed except
in dreams of Miltown.
Everything smells of old books.
Memory miscarries the golden years
while Eisenhower tried to break 80
on the green, grandparents napped
and Little Rock roiled.
Starched white curtains
stand out from the window
on the fragrant breeze
of everything will be alright.
I have a yearning worse
than thirst, than peace.
My thoughts finger the handle of a grip.
A ghost traces my face with a touch
that feels like a spider’s net.
My familiars hear me keening
in the squeal of rails.
Miltown was one of the first psychotropic drugs used in the United States in the 1950s for “nervous tension.” In the 1970s, it was largely replaced by Valium and other medicines.
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