Each day layers to form a sediment of memory.
There is no reorder, Only a continuation of stacking Hours on hours. The layers accrue- paleo light breaks from the center As the clock rotates left, Your kin will remember your fossil, Compressed back in 2003. Each minute compresses the next Until three score pass; The shape of the hour.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
This page is a patchwork of short stories, one liners, poetic attempts, or allegorical fictions. Archives
February 2018
Categories |