Residue of a Spent Time

Clawing my back,

nailing hard and deep.

Short and fleeting is the span of a breath

pressing hard against the dome of sensitivity.

Vision offers pleasure

perception and

later ethics, damn it though

Future beholds the strange and the unidentified

but present endures the anxiety of the imminent

Small and fragile is every dying ounce of time.

yet

dig into the living with that excruciating

prick

stretching for miles ...

to make a yard of a wound