Time Eaters

Christopher Hivner

Tiny, dagger-like teeth

pierce the skin

just below my eyes,

and in a dazzling

moment of clarity

I can see

universes.

The creature advances

the pressure,

digging deeper into my tissue.

Time explodes

behind my eyes

in an army of

azure dreams.

I am time.

I am a river

through time,

a bomb exploding

the dimension of time,

the numbers and variables

that explain time,

the drifting mist

that time exploits,

the past, present and future

in a miasmic dance

through the curtain

of the big bang.

I am all of it

and then . . .

. . . it is gone.

The creature detaches

taking with it

my anima,

my drained essence.

I am left

a flapping husk,

skittering along a roadway

in a hot, summer wind.

Time relieves me

of my memories,

drowns my emotions

in the quantum foam,

surgically removes everything

that allowed me to be.

Time dispossesses me

to the plane

where all stands still.