Time Replied in Tags


I asked Time a question,
a question simple answered,
or
I sew thought.

But now
now
I’m hanging,
dangle -
by a thread.
Yes,
sew it seams.

Which way -
Which way?
How should this be?
What do I do now?

And she
she replied in tags.

I asked Time a dangerous question,
I reckon.

What kind of response is that?
is that -
I want to know.
Know now.

I’m still searching for the
answer.
The answer not on Google
but in my head -
swirling thoughts
a curling
as I’m trying
trying to lie quietly
in bed.

But sleep,
rest,
snooze -
when
when
you’re confused?
Confused!

Monkeys peeling bananas!
They’re laughing in my mind.
They’ve gone ape shit berserk.

No answer -
no appropriate response.
Me.
I feel
such a social jerk.

Left wondering,
me and I. We.
She answered in tags.
Tags. Time,
she has labeled me fear.
100% cotton dread.

Time
is that
that
a thimble?
Are you
stringing me along -
leaving me
to hem and haw?

Aye,
You smock me!
Think me a doomed-collar worker,
you skirt the question
when you answer in tags.

I pant
at the thought,
wipe my tears on my sleeves.

Am I
Time,
am I -
just an eye,
in a needle?

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