The Palliatives

Image by 이룬 봉 from Pixabay

Time as a
Recursive lemniscate
Looping matte black fabric
That exudes rosewood and tar

We, all of us, are bound and
Constantly conveyed
It has its teeth in us
A hypothesis we test often

The Lord of the Hills
Gives us tiny infrequent rewards
Of light and aspirin, but doesn’t
Reveal the cause of our condition

In an opposite place where they
Experience time all at once
They struggle to understand
How we see all colors at once
And call the chaos white

Donald Warren Hayward 2023