What does it look like?
What is a day
after day?
How can the unfolded
napkin always appear
as the day before
just as yellowed
just as mellowed
just as fellowed?
It's a matter
just and always
for time.
The clock has our myth
our masthead
our two after one until twelve.
We spin
and unlike hands
become dizzy.
Our love for math
relics the mimics
that lie in years.
Ambiguity can always
save us from same,
just the way superfluity
can always
just drive us
away from shame.