Time With Waits

Time, Time, Time
but not the way it’s read on a clock
and not in a fuzzy way storytellers mean
but Time
the way Waits sang it
with wind making speeches
not men full of bluster
with saints inhabiting dreams
not self proclaimed saviors
with fiddles playing
til he comes back again
gusty, gravelly
truly, terribly
surely, shudderingly
with no breaks
moving ceaselessly
sweeping everything in its path
like Waits sang it
with storm clouds
with dusty spangles
with stale scotch

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