Adrift


Lately, I measure time                     to a different
                                                      cadence

Hours, days,                                   and all the rest
                                                      slip

by, unannounced.                           Unimportant, they
                                                      lapse

into a series of                                presents that
                                                      accumulate

like icicles and                                stalagmites that
                                                      pool

into years. The                               snatches of lyrics,
                                                      trips

to the hospitals                               and intervals between
                                                      beards

scatter outward and                        away in distorted
                                                      circles

like hands                                       trying to keep
                                                      time

in multiple place,                            all at
                                                      once.

 


fear is the next poem in Migration Patterns.
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