like clocks that need readjustment
yet are too good to drop off
into a trash bin right outside a mall
where the wrappers of yesterday's burgers lie
like clocks that wait until the night is heavy
heavier than your eyelids
and acts at the deepest point of your dream
to not show the correct time anymore
or like that one clock
whose second hand stops on the 57th twice
the boy now wants to be a poet
but oh lord cannot put two words three words together
you should have seen him
swirling on grass
as if tomorrow was granted
and today already past
you should have seen him
dreaming of talking over coffee and cigarettes
wondering if she also dreams
the tale everyone is so fond of telling
the one that where you were supposed to be together
into and after death
like stars that refuse to fall from the ever-growing space
or that one tale that they keep to themselves
hushed mute like a stopped clock
that men, like wrappers end up
with stubs of cigarettes, the thought of smoke
and the cold remains in the cup
you should have seen her
translucent like a greasy wrapper
slowly planning her fall
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