Busy busy, so much to do. Once again I'm the Mad Hatter, running around trying to get things ready for the tea party.

I came across this poem today, written about seven years ago. Seems I was just as busy then as I am now.

And this is still an appropriate way to describe Time.


doesn't begin to describe
what happens to it
More like
 disintegrate, evaporate, eviscerate
 My lack of it
cuts me
like the sharpest of knives
in my drawer
The one I use for carrots
or steak
Little pieces of it
get swept into the dust bin
tossed away
before I know they're gone
I rummage through the trash
hoping to find a morsel
I can still put to good use
I grab scraps -
ten minutes here
fifteen there
Could it be I've found
one hour
soggy and tattered
amidst the rubble?
Clutching this treasure
this time of my own,
I weep
Then throw wide the door