Time Billionaire

I took apart my watch and hid
the pieces around the house.
Walked through the park and
casually slid my phone into
a bear-proof trash bin. Taped
pictures of my two boys at their
weakest and strongest moments
to the bathroom mirror. To all the
mirrors. Until they weren’t mirrors
anymore, just collage reminders
of the sand in my hands. It’s like I’m
transferring the grains from one
bucket to another. So I keep my
fingernails long for this reason.
I slander the moment after sunset
in public. I walk down the street
screaming DEATH TO ELECTRICITY
when all I really want is to arrive
where the sidewalk meets the beach,
where I get a penny for every
second I have left and the billion
shiny copper circles stack into
an infinite oil rig, jacked up,
way out there in the ocean.

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