ticking tocks

it is bittersweet
the ticking tocks
the clock creaks
digitally toward
the end
vacuum seal me
hang me in the back
of the closet
clanging in my pockets
as i wait
to flip the hourglass
on its head
once again

i have been
constantly on the move
making gumbo
now the zucchini bread
bakes to a golden brown
the apartment
smells like cinnamon
the kids are
winding down
and i know it is
only scant hours
until i am no more
for two long weeks

it is difficult
not to want to
curl up into a ball
rather than accept
the oncoming demise
to be forced to smile
as the house of cards
burns around me
back to semi existence
a poltergeist
in my own skin
rattling the walls
of a prison
of falling grains

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