All Your Heroes Are Bastards
by John Tustin
Time is
Rust-colored water
Rushing roughly over
The worn stones
Of my heart.
Time is
Lust-cushioned thoughts
Diminishing
To thoughts of comfort
Or nothing.
Time is
Love-encrusted rings
That fall from fingers
Thinned by envious deceits
And lost in drains.
Time is
A broken branch
Hanging precariously
Off of a larger limb
During a hurricane.
Time is
An ever narrowing
Cordoning of string
Eventually revealing
No cat in the cradle.
Rust-colored water
Rushing roughly over
The worn stones
Of my heart.
Time is
Lust-cushioned thoughts
Diminishing
To thoughts of comfort
Or nothing.
Time is
Love-encrusted rings
That fall from fingers
Thinned by envious deceits
And lost in drains.
Time is
A broken branch
Hanging precariously
Off of a larger limb
During a hurricane.
Time is
An ever narrowing
Cordoning of string
Eventually revealing
No cat in the cradle.
John Tustin’s poetry has appeared in many disparate literary journals since 2009. fritzware.com/johntustinpoetry contains links to his published poetry online.