Time has itchy feet,
it doesn't sit still
never settles
even if I say a dozen wishes
when its busy hands strike
twice at 11:11
in a blink,
December is right in front of me
about to take a bow
and make its grand exit, yet
i'm frightened to let go of its hands,
how could i when
i'm helplessly stuck
somewhere
in the messy alleys of May.
perhaps i'm in a trance,
torn between calm and chaos
holding labored breath
trapped in the spaces
of this fragile ribcage,
with faltering footsteps I obey
the faint voice in my head
telling me to search for some light
and rid this claustrophobia.
December is looking at me
with eyes filled with guilt
like a captain about
to abandon the ship,
and i'm green with envy
for i long to do the same
but i'm caught in a trance
somewhere deep in the
turbulent ocean of 2020
feeling lost and confused
never knowing how
and where
to press Restart.
12.30.20
©amsterdam
A