The years soak like rain
  through the clothes
            chilling the skin
    torturing the bones.

In the now,
                    all the days before-
            the days to come;
are a murky stew of moments
                  that obscure the current one.

I scream my first lungfull
          and take my last,
                  prepare for another.

       The stew stirs,
                cools
                    congeals;
            fresh off the stove,
                      and half finished.

                                     I don’t know…

                                     I don’t know…

               I know only,

Today is tomorrow’s yesterday.