I have a cardboard box
where I keep all the pretty
broken things
that cascade into my life

Trying to hold on to time
in desperation that I will
like I have my father’s voice

An insult to the natural law
of change
we contravene an inner
one sitting in a chapel
that is the universe’s pew

How daring
that one would attempt to hold on
to that which passes invisibly,
which controls us so expertly
in this machine we vainly believe
to understand,
and ignorantly attempt to reverse

We hold on
with ropes pulled by guided horses
by whip bearing men

Grinding against this clockwork,
toiling, falsely believing
one can hold off
age, loss,
when there is
but change

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