
The clock starts now Blue is a color but also a taste Embrace the wall so it knows what a good job it’s doing Extra points for swallowing your past in a gasp There is no time like the present Time must not be tracked Time must be followed Time is just a voyeur and is always up for some fun Push out the world and its feral heat Points are deducted if you remember his name That knocking sound is just the moonlight in a jealous rage You should use all your limbs to carve out a penalty box The clock restarts if you forget your spine-splitting roles Teams change every time the pain does His body can only be described in word play Playing with your tongue is a highly encouraged minor offense Give him whatever face that helps you forget where you are Red is a color but also a sound Tomorrow isn’t in the rulebook so don’t count on it, kid You’re not allowed to hold his shadow You’re not allowed to cherish the warmth You’re not allowed to seek forgiveness You’re not allowed to believe he’s someone you need A red flag is screaming up through your eager throat You’re not allow to say I’ve been here before You’re not allowed to say I need you to want me You’re not allowed to say I deserve what’s coming You’re not allowed to say I don’t believe in salvation You’re not allowed to say I’m lonely You’re not allowed to say I’m dying But, aren’t we all?

Biography
Daniel Brennan (he/him) is a queer writer and coffee devotee from New York, who spent much of his childhood in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Pennsylvania, along with his many siblings and an ongoing menagerie of pets. His work has appeared in Passengers Journal, The Banyan Review, Birdcoat Quarterly, Sky Island Journal, and Hive Avenue, among others. Twitter/Instagram: @dannyjbrennan.