Where time making sense is time wasted
By Parson Thru
picking their way from top to bottom,
like so many lives;
Thinking of Oedipus,
yoked to his fate.
The dryer endlessly tumbles its contents;
another load waits by the door.
No dentist’s drill of indignation;
No bleakness of entitlement,
resentment or spite;
For now, there’s space
to gather thoughts.
A rivulet picks its way down the glass;
In the final moment,
there’s music and weeping.