Can I feel,
this way for a minute.
and take the hours as they pass by,
as my own.
for my own playful desire.
instead of waste,
that I produce from there of.
there is that time I spend away.
I spend it away from myself.
I see nothing but wasted time.
landfills full of broken clocks,
as all the minutes lose their hand.
Poem written by Jeremy C Kester
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