Vortex

I did not expect this washed grey, unawake, emptied nothing, slanted meandering thru ageless days that melt slowly at the seams of every tomorrow spent waiting for something, the something that won’t come unless sought, the something that won’t pay unless bought, it is time, past time, to reach, move, crane, turn, journey, cross to that something, to grasp it firmly by its tail, which is slippery but can be had, to haul it into and be hauled into every wide awake non-dreaming, undying moment of days that are only, only tomorrows never yesterdays, it is a moment beyond the moment when you’ve blinked unbelievingly, then missed the magic perfection that you know happened just as you blinked, and no amount of screaming or cursing will bring it back, and, oh, if only you hadn’t blinked or opened your eyes again, because you did not expect this washed grey, unawake, emptied nothing