What with the possibility of predicting the future Via who I'm going to be There is a temptation to forget the nature of the days Who have hidden themselves as little building blocks Of the type of person I could become And yet these blocks are the pixelations of the entirety Of a life I could live With their sleeps and dreams Cookings and meals And the splendor of motion Or the boredom of flourescence The discovery of reading and writing Or the drudgery of meeting and its plurality Thus, might I hope for a going on A procedure of habit That leads to leading to A continuation of the things that are wonderful As time is experienced in real time And not according to proper nouns