Tic Toc
I am absent today
Devoid of form
Or purpose.
I’m losing something
Every passing minute
That I am without.
This circle will not close.
It shall remain
Unhealed,
Unkept,
And tied to the
Anchor of my
Weighted eyelids.
As with every passing minute
There comes a passage
That I am without.
Books and winks
Strewn across swatches
Of good intentions -
Mixed with
Embarrassing foibles.
They limp, tied like a balloon
That lifts my breath
With every passing minute
That I am without.
Intrepid passages
Have not crossed
My desires to be
Without.
