Time Travel

if death is a time machine | loose a stubborn   countdown | you hazarded in a crenellation | I retreated and passed out | in a conch shell | the next day I stole your Lexus | sped over a garden | of railroad spikes | crashed into a retention wall | the unincorporated part of town | didn’t have streetlights | after my head shattered | the driver’s side window | my first thought was to call your mustache twitch | whimper apologies | like a waiter who misplaced your order | if suicide is a wormhole | our relatives’ tall tale names etched | onto restaurant chairs | where we resurrect the dead | then pretend to ignore them