Time Out (Poetry)

Infinity has lost
another day
(maybe just one
of trillions
give or take) squandered
along its
undulating
way

but what’s
the point of anyone
attempting to count
(or recount)
what can’t
be calculated
followed
going forwards
looking back
it’s inevitable
guaranteed
imagination will
lose track
of time
eventually

memory
will fail
the body’s clock
and measure
g    a    p    s
unevenly
a day    a month
a year
a string
of little
absences

that add up
to not
a lot
a blip ...
a blink
a horological
gl ^ itch

those flimsy
thought-built
bridges
give under
the strain
of forever

hands sweep
the face
go round
and round
the hour wound
inside us
quantifying
life

but off
the record
seconds go
awol
ultimately give
existence
the slip.