Mtskheta, Georgia

The passing of time,
bleeds like an open wound,
refusing to clot, to still.

The moments come and go,
insignificant things, and
yet pregnant with import.

Bleeding, leaving behind
carcasses in desperate need
of transfusion, transcendence.

For this operation, there is
no wait list, no billions
that will stop the flow.

This oblique river stops
for no man, bleeding on
unchecked and without remorse.