Time: the sublime state of losing track of it.
the morning has disappeared,
slipping out between the space
separating my ten scribbling fingers
poems dropping with every pollination,
a comment, an article, a randomized thought
flying by, all become becoming, and now near
the mid of day, I look at my stacked pile of boring
should-be-to-doings, and
draw deep satisfaction
that my
procrastination has been aside shunted,
by the splurging urging to create,
a much worthier
choice for the quality of a
life worth living
nml. fini
May 10
May 10, 2026 at 11:05 AM UTC
Time: the sublime state of losing track of it.
the morning has disappeared,
slipping out between the space
separating my ten scribbling fingers
poems dropping with every pollination,
a comment, an article, a randomized thought
flying by, all become becoming, and now near
the mid of day, I look at my stacked pile of boring
should-be-to-doings, and
draw deep satisfaction
that my
procrastination has been aside shunted,
by the splurging urging to create,
a much worthier
choice for the quality of a
life worth living
nml. fini
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