Time as it is not


This day ages

each creeping-closer minute

My mind rages

For being stuck within it.

If in these false pages, I find Paradise

I’ll pin it

To a digital wall, and soon enough

forget it.

This day lingers

each cripple-sigh of leaving

notes my fingers

are writing, playing, grieving

Each second bears a winter

That bars her from the others

Each second-born is cheered for

One sun-split-second at the crown of arms of mothers

before it is dropped. Who is next?

What’s your number? Tobacco, weed or something stronger?

This day slumbers

Lugubrious gets longer.

This day ages

each inching paining vertebrae

breaking minute

minute minute

This crone rages

as a child who’s caught within it.

Image credit:

“Time Marks on Stone Sundial.” By John Carmichael – Own work, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=6811785


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