The least of which being
A routed switch that shuffles
the swatches of now limited

parallel to the granted parole of
the likeliness of a same time next year,
being but the fear of having to say
some same ole same ole

But say hey and hallelujah
Nothing I can say to clue ya
Not only does my clock
just stop… sometimes somehow
it measures and time-stamps
my piece-work

As it’s doing so… just now,
…somehow… while running backwards

Published by r.Douglas

I’m spry yet retired. I reside in the inner city of a major metropolitan area of the United States. I read politics. I watch baseball. I hum along with the tune. I June swoon, and moon the bad poem. Post here, are old and new. Opinions are my very own, except when wrong.