MINUTE 60 by Phil WallingMINUTE 60
Minute - sixty - twenty - four, seven, three hundred and more
Sixty - five and one hundred . . .
Time passes into a colourless void
Shapes form endless trapezoids
And for every unit appears one more
Than the other shape once before
A certain place is in us to be
Which makes its mark in infinity
I wonder why I see or hear
But every moment it seems to be near
Ending passages of our time
And it all seems to be mine
Minute - sixty - twenty - four, seven, three hundred and more
Sixty - five and one hundred.
02/10/2005 Author's Note: peace
Posted on 02/10/2005 Copyright © 2025 Phil Walling
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