I have always been slow, too slow to see
beyond the eddy to the sea, too slow
to piece together the mundane violence.
So many waves to obliviously
watch as they slowly wash away the shore;
my mind turns away from soft increments.
Each new thought is an act of violence
against reality, against stasis,
toward an affirmation of consciousness.
It’s easy to believe in permanence
when the present seems so solidly here,
while yesterday clings like drowning sailors
pulling me beneath the surface of time,
until my words are swallowed like small fish
to feed an oppressive leviathan.
(March 28, 2024)
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