Uncle History has trouble keeping time…
His watch’s face doesn’t have numbers
Just tiny cross hatches
This one’s for terror, that’s
For more terror…
There’s a mark
For a port in the storm
Another for insomnia
That’s for a low ceiling
That’s for missing a child
This is for running away
Here’s braving the ocean
Rumors of blood in the next village
Are at 12 O’clock
Proof of blood
Is at the center post
Calling home
Doesn’t appear
Who has time for that
When every second
Is a malarial fly
When you never heard a thing
On your way to Damascus…
Planet of the Blind 