Hand Psalm

(For two voices)

Time is a cruel and fickle seamstress, it seemingly stresses the seams and

Dabs a wet eye with scar tissue...

I can see why no one felt they had to read my palm

I'm sure my need for a helping hand was written all over my face

A frozen expression

Meaning I hadn't the means 

to get a grip on my emotions...

It's treacherous under foot

Time heels all wounds 

The sole purpose 

To toe the line...

I have lost the use of my extremities 

My borderline personality

Sought and found asylum 

And took me along with it

Naturally 

thinking took to the nesting habits of cuckoo birds

Brood parasites

With one lob of the temporal lobe

thoughts turned to others 

Hatching all over the place

Gathering them stretched my arms too far

And phantoms grew from my shoulders

The few other worldly possessions I had 

drew

first 

blood

Carving horizons on my wrists

Just such that if I were to cup my hands to herald the iambic parallel between moon and sun I'd be able to trace the curvature of the earth 

With a humourless humerus and post humus posture that can go on forever

Time is relative

The father it gets from you

Is farther from yourself 

Far fetched but fetched nonetheless 

Pull yourself together they say

As if

It doesn't Push each of your cardinal points farther and further away

Till all you can do is put your best face forward

Talk with your hands

And make footholds

The neurosis is whole body

And the plough turns on the field

And you reap what you sow

When crying my hand and I's

Co-ordination is crucial 

And hiding that feeling 

makes an impression

But time...

Time is a cruel and fickle seamstress