Shudder

I am Monday on a Friday, Who knew the stars aligned to sing us through the pangs of life and eternity? A thing called life in a language in a dialect that is as probable and functional as the click of the tongue of the Kung Bushmen. Who knew time could exist as un-linear as Einstein spryly suggested There exist no up, no down Space has no direction but we have a faith in chronicity. You look like happiness over there at this juncture of time and space where we intersect. I have weeks in me, days in me that plod along like Sisyphean years that blur into one another Gifted years that paradoxically seemed to have whipped past me as does a freeze-frame stop motion film You can see it now from a passenger train window whirring by a picket-fence With such velocity with such proximity as to lend to the illusion of Time’s shudder. A picket fence with boards punched out like the stars puncture the deep black “night” sky that give faux symbolism in the likes of what we call hope.