PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

nothing wrong with being gone

being here, being gone

I process time like there is too much of it

and not enough of me

small pieces of rubber I run over an abacus

spinning through the city

I spin through time like the abacus is an easy mirror of me

mirror me gone and I will send you bouncing rubber over the absence of me

I process cities like everything is spinning & wrong

I run through you and will not come back here

then rubber boomerang I am

I run through cities like time is slipping gone

infinity in a sieve

how can this life not run out

how can this life ever run out if I just count

milliseconds on an abacus

split it into

tiny

little

handfuls