POEM: Vanishing Time

It’s mid-month.
But how?
Where are all those days?

Once upon a time,
days were shoved neatly into rows —
like tiles in a perfect pattern…
weren’t they?

Now, the days are tossed rubble:
fragmented,
deformed,
or missing, altogether.

And I wonder whether I was awake through those disjointed days, or whether my mind was kicked into some kind of timeless void?

POEM: When Time Died

when time died
we were frozen
— blocks of inaction

no one would ever know

no light traveled to eyes
no vibrating air entered ears
no bioelectricity zipped down neurons
no cells broke down and died
no memories were formed

no tick-tock of clocks
no clip-clop of hooves

nothing moved or witnessed

everything did nothing
&
never was everywhere

the day time died

POEM: Dissolving Past

I’ve heard it speculated that all times exist at once, and that our consciousness merely shines a light on a sequence of nows. But it sure feels like the past frays; that it’s dissolving from the edges. Worm-eaten in a way that works its way to the heart. The center reads clear for now, but one day… poof, it’ll be lost.

You’ll awake to find whole tracks of life are lost — like slides that were water damaged in the flood.

What happened in 1997? I’d need some sort of prompt to even make a guess.

POEM: Time’s Arrow

Precognition?

I barely have post-cognition —
which is to say, memory.

I have memories of memories of a world that never was.

Cobbled together hopes, dreams, and fears made into a montage of me.

One could chip away at what never was, but I’m not sure reality could support it’s own weight.

What was might end up a toxic rubble, steaming away into nothingness.

POEM: Relativity [a sonnet]

in the space of a blossom’s drift to earth
i feel the gravity give way below
i’ve all the time for terror, shock, and mirth
as tics and tocks go viscous in their flow

each emotion will be given its due
stretched out as if by hands that squeeze and pull
and i can feel, better than see the view
as the planet hangs in a peculiar lull

by the time i start to see the humor
i’m bouncing off the pavement on my back
has my mind been rewired by a tumor?
or has my train of mind slipped its track?

then a blaring horn fills the silent void
and return the kindly and the annoyed

POEM: Block of Time

some say time is a block —

a finished work,

not full on one side of the present and empty on the other —

all causes and effects are settled —

except the causeless first cause

and the effectless final cause

we worm our way through time

like a worm chomps through an apple,

rather than building a future along time’s arrow

POEM: Non-linear Time

you’ve clocked me on atomic time
dragged me below the water line
but you don’t know from whence I’ve come
blank, teary-eyed, and feeling numb

weary from my endless travel
my throat parched, the sound of gravel
still you pull from me a charred word
but it feels distant and absurd

somehow he thinks that he will find
somewhere among the broken time
a time shard that tells the story
lost city, ditched and hoary
weary wanderer drowned down there
pulled from green waters by his hair

“but who was the evil culprit!”
i once heard screamed from a pulpit
the funeral for a future me
i heard the word i could not see
found by some old man of means
who could see behind the scenes

but to know the truth, he could not
secrets hide in bits time forgot

POEM: Dream Time

Persistence of Memory by Salvador Dali




i saw a faceless clock tower

it lacked a mouth to shout the hours

and so it was that time stood still

precariously perched upon a hill

ready for some unsteadying force

to send it on a careening course


with the hapless village below

POEM: Tiny Window





That speck of sand
that you can barely see
is a planet to the particle
that sits on either side of it,

awaiting a wave form collapse.



Your mind can’t roam out
to the tip of the spiral arm–
let alone to the leading edge
of space as it accelerates into…



5 billion years or 5,000,
it’s all the same to you.



And anything less than
a microsecond isn’t worth
being called time–

[though it’s half a life time for muonium.]



Such a tiny window
through which to seek
the sum of all knowledge.