Why Do You Do This?

Who will answer
this time?
Which one of me wants to tackle it

I will.
I/we have no choice.
I/we say the same thing
each time asked.

Time is the ultimate
four letter word
scrawled on all the walls
of all the buildings

in all the cities
within all the worlds
we map
or make up.

The ultimate reverse
graffiti reveals
how much dirt we accumulate
within our own inventions.

Leave it to the scientists
and philosophers,
this poet (and this one and this one and)
hears an echo

split open in an alley
where a mangled chainlink fence
and rotting garbage in a dumpster
are proof enough for her

time does exist
inside this heart
where love and loss
slow dance all night

into a new day.
And it might rain.

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