Ozymandias Seeks Solace

by Brooke Slater

Between the crucifix and the fire escape
The confession box lies in a mirage.

“Forgive me, Father for I have sinned.”
The clock ticks.

The man who hides his face rasps,
“I stole.”

“From a heart or a hand?” the priest asks,
His cigarette tilts up in a grin.

His yellow hand reaches out
And crumbles to sand.

“From time.”

The clock stops,
And it’s midnight once more.