Unsocial Contract
You choose language
uncarefully, shouting
this or that expletive
across the bodies
circulating around,
oblivious, you:
no sun but a burning
sphere of invective &
meaningless phrase.
Forgive my complicity
in your ignorance.
It’s just that the
language we share
allows me no bridge
to cross the distance
between your bold
star & my humble
orbit through your
hurled words.
Circa 1905
Stacking minute upon minute,
the day works its way into
the week’s end then:
slow, now, slow.
Week by week, the years add
a number of epiphanies
& weaknesses, but at the
midpoint there’s a need
to slow, now, slow.
Time may wrinkle face,
hands, & resolve, but
the day’s quick pace
pulses & pride thickens
into humility allowing
that begging voice at
the heart’s deep core
to urge more & more:
slow, now, slow.
Give us just a little
more, Time.
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