Slight of Time

To you, clocks
have no hands;
time has no meaning.
I can spend a lifetime,
waiting for you.
I choose not to wait,
nor even hint
I am a patiently
waiting man.
I have much better
things to do,
like surfers do
when waves are slack,
like painters do
when paints harden,
or singers do
when throats are sore.
I can read a novel,
compose a symphony
with words, or lay a
gold Sudoku on its
wrinkled face and
regard the diabolical.
I have much better
things to do
than twiddle myself
into a thumb
which spasms at
the sight of
nothingness,
a void I see
when you are
forever late,
paying time
no mind.


35 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
1-9-20