On Time

Past, the eerie cave I wriggled out of, shows up
in my distancing rant over the coffee table;
A stage I take by storm and act drunk.
My colleagues are equally prepared.
Always at an arm's length
they lend me an impaired ear.
In the opaque darkness of the world
these frivolous gestures form
the walls that I grope for.
Like in kindergarten, there is
a celebration of life in this babble.
A luckiness that's felt
on board the ship of Columbus.
An untold promise of a new world.
Such a crew and a pleasant sea;
there is least care, if everything I say
is baseless, like what I say about everything.
And as if to mark us by numbers and
the strength of our arguments
there are stains all over the table.
Brown crescents that keep time.