Gypsy, Mermaid

Time is inside me chewing up my organs
Time is inside me, screwing up my game

Time is begging me to dream with him
a step back from the edges razored linings
            my claim

to distressed denim and black thigh highs
a pair of Docs
and abandoned tee shirt holed

un petite bohemien
the girl who knows too many paths of thinking

I get lost in all the tinkering and point shoot develop
cyclone round the cape and sea bends

to seascapes
un petite sirene
beached and stranded transformed

gullied onto land and branded with
a tribal tattoo and a poppy;

marks like the tick tocks of my grandpa

And Time still asks me to dream with him
in a bed made of feathers
and sweet sprigs of
            French lavender

to quit grasps with the mortal entity
equating body to mass and law

and sweep me
            away away

with the minutes, with the hours,
with his little and big hands surrounding
all that he'd

wipe away...