the birds are still
the trees are still
the air rests among
the blades of grass
only the clock pours out
in staccato spurts
a litany of tick-tocks
a river of time segments
in which I’m halfway drowned
sometimes just swept away
bullied and cornered by
an illusion called time
the air and grass don’t care
the birds they don’t know this
certainly not the trees
therefore they are in bliss
~~~
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