some days hang from a crack in my wall;
a wonky concept of 'clockwise' befalls
my feet as i trawl from one to five
everything feels right until you go left:
i feel more alive post daylight theft

so press me to the concrete 'til i feel thin
spots in time where tomorrow begins
to trim epiphanies from a beehive:
you're honey in the stamen; taste unmade,
just cure to thrive in time, decayed