Although you find time
right where you left it
and give of it freely
in streams and heaps,
the flavor evades you.
The acrid tang of lost seconds
sizzles on your palate,
and there is no harm
in trying another bite
another slice of time
alive with bacteria.

And you discover that your 
misplaced moments fermented 
without you
into a fine stew
of musings.
You’ve got Spare Time, pickled and bottled.
And it fetches a fair price.
Spice it and try some
with your morning toast
and take the rest to market.

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