There is no such thing as time,
Just Globe and Mails that go unread,
Mugs of tea that go unsteeped,
and musings, oh so many musings, that go unconsidered.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
In the silence it ticks on…
So keep sighing, with no means to
an end that is inevitable yet
elusive, advertised nowhere
in the bolded Times New Roman type.
So let those breaths rattle through your chest
and remember:
a stopped clock is wrong 22 hours of the day.