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?

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

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