One, One Thousand. Two, One Thousand

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Sister, can you spare a second or are you on your own time?

Even among those who do not possess rhythm

The counting of seconds is a meter

All count,, with near precision.

 

It is felt in how the world

Bats the sun round the sky, and

Back round again….

An inevitable rhythm….

Placed within parenthesis…

Found in the middle of

Never-ending sentences of desire

Stilled…the impatient wait for a lover

Who no longer loves…the beat of

Of the other who hesitates

Who found another love,

circling inside the globe, like

The movement of

The sticky second hand….for

 

Everyone knows the rhythm of seconds.

 

It is felt on freeways and roads

Measured in meters…

We count with cars, the distance…

It takes to get somewhere,

As we confine ourselves in a space.

We, the metronome driver

Listening to the radio, who tricks us

Into speeding up, but fails

We cannot but count, evenly, smoothly

One pulse, fingers on wrist, firm,

Even as moments pass by in bunches.

We affix to accidents, crashes, tragedy

In order to slow the rhythm down

Becoming addicted to distortion

Steering wheel and accelerator…for

 

Everyone knows the rhythm of seconds.

 

It is felt in how we push, from

“I wish this would never end”, to

“I can’t wait until this is over.”

Compelling us to rearrange rhythm

Putting in overtime, time and a half

To split seconds like atoms,

Hoping to create differing

Rhythmic timelines (pulses)

Dimensions, heavens, myth

Beyond the Earth’s rotation

Spinning sunrises and sunsets.

An outer second that extends

Life, ends dying, postpones pain…asking

 

Is it possible to be a stranger to a second?

 

 

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