Flow

Slip-pop plunge we all into cyclic existence

From breeders we stem without choice

Weeping and raw, howling for milk

Some into gutters, others silk

 

Red-red blooms the flow, now a bosom and polis

Thick-dark the hairs grow, telling of our functions

New roles amassed – on we plod without knowing

What path was chosen: Mary had a little Lamb

 

Wish-wash flow the days: a clepsydra without catch

Whose spillage is enough to nourish later lives

This falls in ponds, and fills them up full

Still walls can only hold what walls hold

 

Clack-clang march the seconds, abrasive to the flow

Sixty is one, and sixty another

Wisp-wisp we expire, progression problematic

Flow stops in tracks, punctuality problematic

 

Horology, a futile vice lusting for eternity

Giggled at by the Gnomon who slays easily

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