Tomorrow Morning

There is never a good enough time,

Not for hugs, fire which ends quickly to sand,

Not for mirrors, which reflect black holes into our faces,

Not for work, the work we must create now, tomorrow morning,

Not for wiping the dust off piles of last year's failed creations,

Not for sucking in your breath and spitting out more than hey,

Not for study sessions which trail on and on into Neverland,

Not for smoke clouds to be ingested, to lick the tongue,

Not for the tongue to perform its ritual dance in the cave,

Not for I, the son, to pick up the phone and learn a new area code,

Not for fathers to keep their bearded faces above water,

Not for sleep, worthless sleep, I might as well go the full 40 hours,

Not for learning to play an instrument, which would create time,

Not for applying finishing touches to so many disappearing artifacts,

Not for questioning my rapidly plunging morality and naivety,

Not for adoring the kindness I am starving myself of,

Not for the presence of two, which on the right nights is mercurial,

Not for starting something new, something worth it all,

because the right time has already past,

but it won't, it won't, it won't be the last.