The least of which being
A routed switch that shuffles
the swatches of now limited
options
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
olé
But say hey and hallelujah
Nothing I can say to clue ya
Not only does my clock
often
just stop… sometimes somehow
it measures and time-stamps
my piece-work
As it’s doing so… just now,
…somehow… while running backwards
