Hourglass

The vague line where reality loses its structure
The event horizon where fingers bend and snap
Wings tatter light at the tip of your nose withers
The water and spit emulsifies like oil in the morning

At the center of my little mind
Is a little angel painting the pictures
Surrealism and abstract figures
Memories like sand

And when you run them through your fingers
Treasure trash tears and time
Will all fall down the glass that holds it
And all bodies become one

Like the foundation, the drywall, the studs
The glass the wood the stone
Finger like a hurricane sweeps it all up
And it’ll dry your throat up until the last grain drops