Twenty-three minutes

As I drive I think to myself all I have is the title
I don’t know what it means
But I do know
Or the knowledge is there
And I feel as though all the time I’ve travelled accumulates
That by moving across the earth, some spirit somewhere measures the total distance crossed
Pours a grain of sand for each kilometre into a font
I don’t know why the spirit would do that
It does though
Like the others
Measuring my life in abstract
Perhaps just for the sake of it
And when the time expires it will all cease to exist

The journey in my carriage brings about a thousand births
A thousand deaths
Bleeding out by the side of the road
Bursting forth for first breaths
The violence with which life accosts me
With which it loves me
It’s too much and I close down
Some collective of ghosts instinctively assume control
And I find myself home
I’m guided floating to the dinner table
To partake in ceremonial food
Faces vaguely familiar
Words of foreign languages that taste of strangeness in my mouth

I don’t know how it’s coming
I can’t see it
I never can
I think I’ve run out of fear
Run out of anticipation and enthusiasm
Run out of everything
What I have left I want to give away
My skills
My talents
My ghosts
My words
My loves
My affection
My intelligence
My body
If I could divide myself for you
For you my beautiful nymphs and noble knights
Creatures of fantasy who bear me up to normality with your fragments of tenderness

I don’t know what I’m saying any-more
What seems to have only just begun has been in motion for years
Or perhaps only minutes
The distinction is unclear
You should hurry to me then
And take what you can