The widget to fridge the fidget.
In lip, not step.
A future with fear, a stopwatch with no stop.
I wonder, I wander, I resist, I insist.
You change, not me, in order to be free.
Free to stop time, I turn back on a dime.
Looking for the sublime in my past mind.
Imagine that. Memory like a gnat.
Straining over that. Pinned on the mat.
Is that where I sat. Was I flat?
I don’t know so I can go.
No! Stop. Grow.
I can’t know this any more.
A strangely, yet not estranged, armored amour.
Imagine this John’s linen.
Where the robber hits the road.