Stephen Livesey Ashworth, 26 January 2008
(For a friend who had to do some time.)
| Cold sunlight falls across the bars And draws a crooked puzzle on the floor. The shadows creep to mark the hours Until they reach a locked and bolted door. At night I only smell the grime – I guess that’s why they call it time. The ringing phone reveals no clue Why nobody is answering my call. I don’t know what’s compelling you To hide yourself behind a soundproof wall. My heart is breaking, lover mine – I guess that’s why you’ve called it time. Beer glasses line up on the bar With sour dregs of psychotropic brews. A drunkard lights a fat cigar And slurs a litany of vile abuse. The floor is wet with pools of slime – I guess that’s why they’re calling time. Two twins on the event horizon: Last time they met, they synchronised their clocks. But now they face a fact surprising: One young, one old: why such a paradox? One flew a different world line – I guess that’s why they call it t-prime. |
Stephen Livesey Ashworth, Oxford, UK, sa -- at -- astronist.demon.co.uk
11 July 2008 / 39th Apollo Anniversary Year