(no subject)

[belonging]

by the time you finish shaving,
it's time to shave again.
seconds were grains of sand
you tightened in a mason-jar

this morning my thoughts do not connect,
they are a red line and a blue line,
one going twenty mph and the other a 100.

they will not meet anywhere on time,
that much is certain.
but when they do meet in the mothball
midwest, will you be there with beheaded
flowers, with a nervous laugh, asking
why we were always here.