mornings faster than were seemed  a night before
as seasons are and years
my mind eclipsed and crucified with human times
senses seem
farther removed more down
less low in the groin now
fog mass retained longer into the  hours each day
cataracts and wispy visions
transposed with long lost memories
I suppose time has its purpose  
to slowly decompose

get up get down all the millions who
are gonna go around
this

get high get higher than
in charge of foolish
realms

everything
is timeless

a leaf

Your circus friends
the roustabouts trapeze girls
and all the other clowns

they've seen the light
and that's why they'll never call
and you know they'll never write

because of this
you swim in pity

to the joy of thousands
of  hollow fans

Whit Howland ©2017

falling down the sandglass so
endlessly each grain second
so stopped a thought
stranded another grain of creative angst there
between the glasses skinny part
I sit whispering curses
I forget the
lines I had in memory when
I tried to write them down
turn that god ****** thing over
again
it is stuck

it's gonna be dry one day
when it finally stops raining
down here in old Alabam'

seems to be either drought
or tsunami rain forest ****
down here these places

Outside the puddles
are taking over, the farmers
always proclaiming catastrophe.

like drug dealers, I used to know
they don't want you to realize
their prosperity

or find their two ounces stashed
buried near that peanut plant
in the field

or the fifty thousand cash

wonder the withers of winters on limbs
chill the clinging icicles
reminds me of
Jack Frost  a good friend I knew way
back when
I used to have to walk ten miles to school
uphill both ways
we would meet at the end of
Arctic street Seven AM
fire up a joint and try to keep warm
in zero degrees
walking the last nine miles with blood red eyes
shivering
but cool
no hats
or mittens or overshoes
just chillin' dude