Spokes on Broken Wheels

Infinity she warned is somewhere inside yourself. The mattress like strobe lights. Slipping its wide grin around her breasts. Blinking. Taking pictures of the same want it always has. The dark. A centrifuge. Spinning. Taking each of us apart. To extract the if.

I couldn't name the time. But I could hear the clock marking the seconds. An eternity of rusty pins stabbing at the wrinkled putty under the kiss of her panties. Too soon. Too late. They are the same. They are always.

I move the island, but am not moved by it. Such is the folly of time travel. It takes you nowhere you haven't always been.

I guess I've gone to the future.
Because everyone is so far away.

I guess I've gone to the past.
Because everyone is so far away.

Infinity is as close as anyone has ever been.