calendar noise.

our last few hours are itching at my palms.

clocks are funny that way.

they like to hurt a little,

bite a little.

tomorrow will be tuesday.

and when your 6:30 alarm is making love to your favorite oatmeal,

remember that hours itch and the calendar is laughing at us.

remember that the calendar is laughing at us.

remember the cross-off's and the tick marks are burning holes in my textbooks

and the calendar is sipping coffee somewhere

because tomorrow will be tuesday and she doesn't even need to stop it.

clocks are funny that way.

they have me unscrewing the stars,

bare-hands-til-I-bleed since there's no time for tools.

they have me sending packages to LOVE without an area code.

and they say HOPELESS isn't a real return address,

but home was never a number.

they have me hearing seconds.

and milli-seconds.

and all the breaths that get lost in them.

they have me biting my nails at you,

or for you,

or with you,

bringing my teeth a little closer to my veins

and my veins a little closer to tearing.

the clocks have the pictures going up on the walls,

the walls coming down with the tears,

and the tears coming out with the hours.

and the hours,

they're laughing at us.

they're singing as they go.

but at least

they aren't gone

yet.