Shudder
I am Monday on a Friday,
Who knew the stars aligned to sing us through the pangs of life and eternity?
A thing called life in a language in a dialect that is as probable and functional as the click of the tongue of the Kung Bushmen.
Who knew time could exist as un-linear as Einstein spryly suggested
There exist no up, no down
Space has no direction but we have a faith in chronicity.
You look like happiness over there at this juncture of time and space where we intersect.
I have weeks in me, days in me that plod along like Sisyphean years that blur into one another
Gifted years that paradoxically seemed to have whipped past me as does a freeze-frame stop motion film
You can see it now from a passenger train window whirring by a picket-fence
With such velocity with such proximity as to lend to the illusion of Time’s shudder.
A picket fence with boards punched out like the stars puncture the deep black “night” sky that give faux symbolism in the likes of what we call hope.
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