feeling like someone that’s not myself
the elegant imbeciles
and the profound plebeians
cannot touch me
nor could i-
or would i-
reach for my own soul;
i am separate and sequestered
from the anxious mind
that is running out of time
i am non-contingent,
a transient motor;
an ephemeral apparatus
that’s perpetually desired.
a symbol of a single moment-
instantaneous, but forever passing;
forever passing, but never chased after;
all i am is here and now
