Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tap
tap
tapping.
Passing through
time, is
a solid.
Time is
a syrup
restricting movement.
Second seconds
skipping beats.
Syncopating rhythms
of heart murmurs,
dispersing cacophonous
reverberations.
Tick
tick
tick
t-tick
tickticktick
tic
If I am experiencing say a really bad day...
that I am attributing to you having stepped on my toes on the bus this morning, while you were trying to squeeze by an extremely large man with outrageous body odor on a really cold December morning, with the sky all grey and hovering I swear to god just inches above the telephone wires.
Meanwhile, youíve gone on...
to a day like every other day, same olí same olí, coffee break at ten well that lasts about 30 minutes, canít hear anything over the roar of the looms on the main floor cotton dust in the air because the damn humidifier is on the blink again and the orders late but what else is new?
11111111
22222222
34567
7
seven
ten
Alright, so maybe while you are having your same ëol, same ëol day, and my day got off to a bad start...
this other guy, see, heís over there, on a completely different bus, and heís trying to balance a copy of Stephen Kingís Cujo on his lap while juggling his bagged lunch and thermos and just hoping to make it through to the end of the day, ëcause itís friday, and him and the rest of the crew are gonna shoot pool down at Georgieís after the shift is over.
Looking through an insect's
eyes
backwards.