Future Tense

some times pass
others are sticky,

they catch their ride
on the heart's ache,

a sweet war child
a napalm jelly baby
sucked on by life,

some times escape
others are captured,

inside the network
working within us,

crossed fuse wires burn
the oily waters of blood
black and blue at peace,

some times are in waiting
up ahead around the bend,

future cutting me off at the pass
refusing to be kissed on the lips,

as for now the tongue
rolls in the cheek,

tasting the blood
of my own bite.


John G.Hall(C)2004