You can't right it or fix it its

When low temperature speaks
Speaks only ending to you

What what what time is it

you know the calendar works perfectly
you cannot right it nor remove the battery
either it has no worse and deeper workings
you might whisper of whats wrong with to a healer
simply that it looks a lot like how this all will feel
in the end, you rotting and lucking long ways
across the cells of every second and hundreds of months touching
there is no day to encircle for when it all gets fixed
no one for locking in on a week day week which
when it all was broke only more unmarked days
for realising all that hold on a human you have really been
after all, its you who keeps himself dark twin
and laying with the long below you void
the ugly unimportance of specific twin to
you was weightless hoping air for all goals and no god
in a revised history for where
you're lacking something umbilical
ice folical, black glass
a strained weak link in a chain gone clear through your past life
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 11, 12,
13 and