This ink here for sitting down after work.
I’ve been biking, I don’t know if you’ve ridden with me, ontic thing, in a pannier—
Ready to hand a pannier, the word even is work to do the thing at hand. Hello there.
Stay with me.
I’m here and I want to meet you there, hi.
Always curious to hear what you think of all of this.
Is it anything? Should I be more concerned with spending time?
That’s the saying, ontic thing, that money’s time. Hard to choose who’s worse off
between the two on Munch’s riverbank, the moon’s Cyclopean tear falls indifferent,
just having a good cry, it’s good to cry
to feel you have it the worst for a split second enough to allow the time spent crying for
oneself.
You earned it. Time! One earns time,
loses it. It is, but we made it, this Time!
I haven’t decided if IT WAS before the ticking of a clock.
I hear three ticking now. Does it drive Arlo mad too? What is the cat’s comportment to
time?
The clock blasts incessant victory rattle the feat of measuring Day, the spin and space
dissected and reanimated, a Gollum of Measurements for us to remember, yes I pray
to the complexity of you there, hi
and it, the clock that ticks for us to contemplate the unfathomable bodies’ dance
which keeps paced the night and day, east to west, tilt and locale, wow the ticking and the
ink here.
Money is time! I hate it, don’t say it again,
this time! I think of all those cults through eons facing this way or that worshipping this time. I see them there prone and growing beards or shaving them depends on their locale, but maybe also ultimately some pervert’s preference long ago but the fact is lost
to time.
Time consumes, too, like fucking masticates and digests but never grows.
Time is not the universe, just how we see it.
We need time to see it all. It’s the only way to talk about it,
that’s time. We’re all praying
to time. I’m there prone, too. Sometimes a beard, sometimes not.
Always white, cisgendered, more or less straight.
Never paid enough for time to spend.
I see time there, here, but cannot speak to it as I speak to you, ontic thing,
Time, too, has a taste for you. I see it in your binding.
Will you there, hi think of time with me, then?
