constant interference with the way time is supposed to work sets my hands back to stone. we slick back the hair on our heads like eating and sleeping. stomaches fondle the present more superficially than knees kneel over the path of the eyes following your footsteps onward toward tomorrow, I left the math to the doctors. so many things fell through that ink is my new best friend, loyalties must be reassessed and the doctors recalculate what time my appointment is. They said I am the king, in small amounts. upon hearing the grappling of terse words with reality I found the next day to be bearable, a few days before it happened. New clocks had twice the hours on them,I fought longer than memory allowed for and the patterns of god filling my vision only gave one more thing to clarity: I am body correllative for as long as eyes hold meaning.