Wild-West Slow Time.

On wild west slow time…
a few very cruel hours behind…
The clock ticks its tricks on mind,
a very specific,
Western-Pacific,
draw of the slowest kind…

On the way to Nowhere…
there’s a lag in the air…
the last to drag our asses there,
the entire Pacific Ocean,
rolls in stoner-slow-motion,
the very last to ring in a New Year…

So what might we expect?
besides anything but perfect?
hours wedged between the increments,
who were we to think,
that somehow, exceptionally,
hours throttling our thing weren’t subject?

So when it’s a problem that I…
want more than two words per reply…
when you’re sound asleep during my dinnertime,
we both should’ve seen,
this inevitable ending,
with the distance between your body and mine.