I envy the mind of whoever
thought that up as a pick-up line;
I doubt I could pull it off.
“Tick-tock, tick-tock.” says
the green crocodile, smiling behind me.
Time passes spasmodically,
without explaining itself.
Thoughts are mercurial;
hesitate on the razor-balance of
too rushed and too idle.
It’s in between the good times that
I feel like Sisyphus, and even like
Meursault. Times like now when all
movement is a relentless thrust upward,
and great energies are expended for
some purposeless toil.
This is what stars feel like.
Things make more sense in hindsight.
I wonder if Sisyphus,
ever stops his push and turns
to look back down the mountain.