I see a solid object, in my mind,
Grasped by a phantom human hand,
Explored to distract, or pass the time,
Every day carry to a distant land.
Fidget, spin, or brass fitting held,
A soothing reminder, dense and cool.
Carried with me,
Compulsively,
In the pockets of a child,
Or maybe,
A fool.


It escapes,
Irretrievable,
                                   Time.

My soul moves with fidgets and twitches and dreams of back porches.
feels like it’s constantly wasting its time, and smells like the air after summer rain.
My soul has not been patient lately, and went home at noon.
it sounds like a car crash on i-87.
I keep extra socks for my soul.
It can’t get over you, tolerate immaturity, or wait around.
My soul looks for a loophole or justification in everything it sees.
It gets older, impatient, and tired.
My soul remembers simpler times, when learning had a purpose.