Lost Hours – a poem


In time we trust

Without choice and in arcane need

Brilliant yet dull, the quickness

Of severance, of continuity, knows

Few truths, liquid reality.

*

Time exists only for the beholder

Liquid fluid floating matrix touch,

Ooey gooey, suspended perfection;

Each point branching across whole,

Where there is one there is Legion;

For all TIME.

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