delicate.

When did I misplace
my
diplomacy — I can’t revert
can’t really replace
my Self, alone
and scratching at incongruency
Aloft and out of place
I’ve
begun to impress
upon myself the notion
that forever isn’t so long
at all
as I like to pretend
once in a great while
I’ll be a fish
next time around
I’ve had
memories of tomorrow
bring forth
this whole imaginary
“i don’t care”
it comes around like the minute hand
often
too fast

more often than not there isn’t any middle ground when it comes to time. no moment ever feels like minutes when it’s minutes, it has to feel like seconds or hours, depending on what thoughts are present and what strange winds are stirring the hands.

“i don’t care” makes everything easier though, doesn’t it? days slide by and we only remember that which we choose.