does it make you angry
that the mirror’s in the present
does it make you hungry
like a spatially laden pheasant?

I see cardinal directions
but only for this second
In only three dimensions
as my dark brain reckoned

I smash the mirror with my fist
The shards of silver bleed
I smash the wristwatch with a hammer
Then plant it with a seed

I watch the tree grow stronger
Its roots dig in my belly
I feed the time-tree daily
As my bones turn to jelly

The fruits are yellow, thick-skinned
They grow too far to reach
My head is buried in the dirt
The tree’s become a leech

I will not eat my time-fruits
I will not taste their juice
Instead I lay here in the dirt
and let my spirit loose