"Only thirteen more days"..."If I sleep it will go by faster"..."next week I will get my license"..."I can't wait until"..."not this week but the week after"..."are we almost there"...
"when will we go?"
(life lines)
Does it seem like a fair agreement to you
that we are unable to read the fine print
until the ink is dry and we've agreed to live
this way...before we know how to arbitrate?
(tug-of-war)
Now that I read in Anthropocene
dialect, it seems to say:
You have been given four thousand three hundred
and some odd weeks to spend-
In total.
You have been granted just one ball on which
to do it All.
Spend this wisely-
there is no saving.
You may keep
Nothing.
Some portions must be traded for sleep
and eating your own words.
Take it all in and then promptly let it all go
to show progress and more or less, make more with less
until you think you have the hang of It, feeling the slack.
(a rope)
It may read like a disclosure,
I will take you as I made you-the rest
is what you do with It.
(a knot)
In portions, we cut corners and try to
walk the shortest line in distance by diameter,
it all comes around-again.
(a bow)
May the most deserved rise on Sunday,
marking the start of something new
weekly waiting in circles of seven
waiting to get on the short list they call 'Heaven'
while dwelling on the never do wells, sex sells
guilt tells All
(a noose)
All you get-Terms-It read, non-negotiable.
You will have it all on this one ball-
All rolling faster as it passes apogee, Its gravity
growing as It approaches just two thousand weeks
left on this tiny sphered soul, daze taking toll
I roll over redemption until next weak.
(a skein)
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