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August 9, 2015
There seems to be a space
surrounding ten minutes.
The space is ragged at the ends
as if perhaps a few seconds have been ripped
off at some point,
have been lost.
The space defined this way is finite.
It has a
resolute end
that comes without fail.
And this is followed by another ten minutes.
This is how I work. It is how I spend my morning,
I watch segments of time passing by,
timing them.
And it seems inevitable that I will come to see
my own life
as a resolute passage of a finite amount of time.