Wednesday, January 20, 2016


Minutes until too late and then what, clock-watcher?

I'm three pages into a folder called "emotional reading" I'm

staying sharp.

A motion detector flips on and after it's off I remember I didn't bother to look.

What moved?

I was standing under an overpass again feeling my own motion unprivileged.

I actively waste every day.

An old woman with long white braids was waiting for the bus and then on it

when I got on later after giving up, getting nowhere faster than she was.

This is just about motion and stillness

and age, and justice. It's about planning.

It's not about justice. It's about inertia.

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