Quarters.

What do you know
Of metered breakdowns?
Inserting quarters in time machines
Just to spare a minute
That might let you lose yourself.
Like working in double negatives
Minus the dark room—
Someone hands you a frame
But you break it instead.

Some days ----
It feels like I’m mothering
My soul back to health
Turning around every three seconds to
Make sure it’s still there
And hasn’t wandered off somewhere
Like a child in an arcade
By a coastline.
Drawn by water.
Needing tides.

Yesterday—
I got a fine.
Said they claimed I stayed too long
And didn’t pay enough to do it.
Couldn’t tell them it was because
Soul slipped out of my grip
And ran toward the water.
And I knew this time—
She was gonna do it.
She was gonna leave for good.
And I had to chase, catch, hold.
Or there’d no longer be a need for a meter.
Or a quarter. Or time.
Or even words, for that matter.

And I didn't want to find out
What any taste of that would feel like.
Not when those are the only
Pieces I've got left.