It's oh so early but not nearly for my insomnia
spending time like spare change on confection
comes not unlike the extra lbs of middle age
this morning as I braille matters numb in hand
running on empty again when long ago dry
One part per million I've heard is too much
how to discern that in one's spirit weighs humble
on so many operations one's mind will execute
chaining along a linear fashion is trope norm
while a few oddballs throw in knots of dreams
which cue one to stop, and play the back side.
In this memory of power once driven round
all these knots have become a kinder route
with the chains of moments flowing in time
vanishing falling even wandering off remote
a few special kinds of noisy pieces are kept
to remind me that while I prefer not time
ways remain myself tethered unfortunate.
this waste of now in such noisey alarm
keeps me awake, aware of my aches of age
Would life be without ointments and heat
power sources I can plug into in the pinch
Such time constrained reconaissance
would be for not, leaving one part enough
to seek my future and succumb to the rest.
The relief of braille may bump a paradox
yet I find the more relief the better the now.
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