In The Shadow of Fast Clocks

In The Shadow of Fast Clocks

is a fast clock

more alive than one

   that runs slow ..

or does it just seem

that way, while

   we are busy passing ..

still, when we

are young, we all joke

about that

   sore point of beauty ..

where the bud

has become bruised

and beyond,

   a point of full bloom ..

the very same

point, when it is no

longer perfect,

 much like fresh milk,

which has

thus become tainted

or curdled

and our blue veins

   all ballooned ..

indeed, that’s when it

first struck me,

how the whole of my

life is somehow

determined by time

and ruled by a

series of back on back

   tiny moments ..

those which somehow

serve to inform

my sense of direction

and helped me

to arrive at my latest

and boldest of

conclusions, that life is

a solitary game

I am now prepared to

confess I know

not one of the rules to ..