Ready or not
here I come.
so ripe (when we are young)
it bleeds from our fingertips.
I’m still young,
yet the art of play
dries up in front of me every day.
The User is Now Busy
life feels absolutely endless.
Maybe next year
weeds will grow over the tarmac;
dust will topple the skyscrapers
water will flow freely.
The demise of civilisation
how to play again.
Things grow because we plant them
Things work because we build them.
Nothing will move for a very long time.
Only the beating sun
to remind us that we are all alive.
The elastic arms of Time
will stretch around us
warm, receiving, impossibly firm
Where was I? Time will laugh, guttural
I’ve been here all along.
Time flies when you’re having fun:
But when I was seven, every day of summer
sat unmoving in the shallow riverbed
before my mucky feet.
At first, I didn’t understand
how we moved so fast and so slow
all at once
until I was flying down that dirt road
and lost my balance.
I slid over that gravel
like a little fish on ice,
as it tore my knees apart.
(The jacarandas are opening. It’s almost my birthday)
Time is of the essence:
I pulled myself over that cattle grate and crawled.
Past the hibiscus in the driveway
to my mother
into my second life,
where time became incredulous to me.
Here we go again:
A swift, cool breeze,
the lizard detaches its tail.
How we shriek with excitement.
Forever and a day spent:
I guess, it all comes
a little too late.
Time is money:
Excuse me, do you have it?
I guess we are out.