71. THE STRINGS OF TIME (10/10/08)
The strings of time wrap up a moldy chest
Of worn ideas, battered concepts, best
Forgotten, best abandoned, laid to rest.
Contents of which we hope will face no test
Of prying questions, piercing inquisition,
Of nasty accusations, indecision,
Of dusty ghosts which jockey for position.
The strings of time suspend me in the air,
A spider web spun seemingly nowhere,
Design unthought, devoid of any care,
Devoid of plan, thinner than human hair,
Comprised of steely yarn, they bind me there.
The strings of time withstand the sharpest knife:
The incidental music of my life.
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