All the pretty lights
shine
flicker
and blind me.
I stumble,
and try to grab on to something,
someone,
to keep from falling.
I don’t know which way to go.
What to say.
The years spin,
faster and faster.
You’d think,
it’d get slower,
cause of friction.
My grandfather used to tell me,
when he caught me flipping the light switch
on and off and
on and off again,
repeatedly,
that it’d use up the light bulb;
and that the light switch
had only a number of on offs in it.
My grandmother
just told me,
that time might go by slow
in the beginning,
but it picks up speed,
as you got closer to the end.
Smyon-Pa 