Jet stream of time
squirting months
momentarily too late
to do anything
that will save the moment

history has me by the skin
I am all biodegradable
compost for the unknown

developing
appetite for the instant
that will last for centuries

the idiot
as I am
seeing time
as a machine
industrialized for more

there is fluidity
in this duration
that spreads like a flood
over the coastlines
of my
isolated sojourn.

Modern Poetry