Return of the Native

Because of time being an arrow, I had to imagine everything.
 
I had to fold the song with my mind because of the time being. Wash the rice here, in the present.
 
Because of the arrow I pent up the fourth wall as though I were diapering my own newborn.
 
I put time to the breast, though I feared it was not an arrow but an asp.
 
Being time I kept that fear under my tongue like a thermometer. I felt its mercury rolling under my teeth, boiling like language.
 
A deaf man, an old man, I am his hand, rough and gentle, an arrow here and then.
 
Time, I can see what I feel.
 
In the future even your future becomes my past. Arrow, I have died. There is peace. I pull it from me like a blanket.
 
As in a dream, because of time being an arrow, I put on the dress of a young, lovely mother. Because of her, because of the time, here I am, always watching over you.