Just time.
Just time in which to write.
To write about having six minutes left.
Six minutes left to write about something before
midnight. Midnight or midlife, for me, the day is still young
enough to take more of what I have to give to it – more of my thoughts
about what it is to now have just three minutes left to form a worthwhile poem
before midnight. Two more minutes and I’m not at all sure that these words are what is
left of today.
Midnight.
No more yesterday time.
Just today time. More never-ending today time in which to write more of the something;
the something that will, before mid-day, be a something that is worthwhile and worth the
time you’ve spent in waiting for that something that you are hoping will halt the flow, as
I write may way through all of my mid-points.
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, April 2019
The Silly-Savvy Salopian in Suffolk: read, believe and write ... 