Folded time and wadded it in a great big ball then used it like silly putty to copy the funny pages. History displayed as an antonym of reality, gently blowing in the breeze as the wind toys with its tatters. Toddlers in the toy-room hoping nothing more than nonsense will compel shareholder influence. And what priest has admonished those infatuated with folly, gems and power? For none stand to lose the gain of wanton solicitation of the ungodly. Unto belief is finally come clean into the truth of faith practised lightly for talent shows and book reviews.

What stream greased the pulverizing wheel of Time’s exasperation with the living? What deed or trust when reviewed shows that death owns anything but a moment where caught breath and stopped signals convey that which is to that which was and will soon become? Are you we so disinterested in the outcome that we have sold our inheritance and seat upon the podium to someone greedy enough to want to be US? What brand of holy devotion protects us from the slaughter that each man’s heart welcomes for the masses?

Is august a portence, a shield or title invoking something entirely clean and well intentioned? What farm rolls out the animals without gas the birds with reproduction and the ants that refrain from eating all that we hold as treasure. Why is rust so effective and maggots always hungry for the rotted flesh of life’s weakness? Invoke the Holy decree that stops infraction of the wicked upon innocence and dreams. Where with all it may be delivered to God’s Reviewing promise, protected, provisioned and predetermined for the Good Works of Time’s unwilling clutches?

Does he lose if I refuse to acknowledge my own captivity, viewing myself never late or early but always there when I need be? Punctual, Petty Coat Junctional on my way to the greenest acre of barren waste set aside for those who never wanted. Freedom in the pie left behind for all to finish as we each diminish and fade into the background, woven to tapestry telling the story of something never worth the read. A seed within the machinery of temporeal passed on as no policy provides for process of heavenly things by Earthly requirement. Looked at with tilted brow, lost in the shadows of my own dour thought I reach for tomorrows elbow, asking if I may perhaps hitch a ride to nowhere, for somewhere had to go.