*Best read sideways on mobile devices
The day is longer than it seems.
Perhaps it’s just me waiting for it to be over.
The clock spins like a whirlpool,
washing away the day’s responsibilities.
Down the hole goes time,
flushed to the center of now.
Lost behind the soul in the center of the mind.
Blind to the present of the moment.
No notice of the sun’s traverse across the sky.
beneath the things that fly.