only moments

asher


a few of them


the tea garden

there and back again...

branches

two, four, six...no time for counting
each day ended before night had time to begin.

reaching for soft skin, every dream faded
surreal desires crushed my alarm again.
grasping for mere abstractions, another page turned
ink stains and coffee guided me through each night.

still counting...praying for some new light
there is no end until I begin, perhaps begin again.

branching out, trying harder
hoping tomorrow would be more than new.
while riding the metro, I paid the bills
exhaustion and procrastination became my muse.

fourteen, sixteen, seventeen...I mean eighteen
not even days nor years, even moments are gone.

staring at a new year, wondering what I've learned
wishing the cursor would do more than blink.
sitting, thinking, waiting, I look deep this time
silence follows.

twenty, twenty-two, crap...do I have time; do I care?
tomorrow I'll eat a cucumber, maybe eat a peach
maybe tomorrow will be new.