oh to curl up in a sunbeam;
watch the life go rushing by.
and i’ll just sit here cunningly
as searchers miss me in the sky.
and i’ll look down where down below
they run in little circle tracks,
live in home florescently
or argue over time and tax.
they’ll go to school and eat the bus
and spit out papers from their throats.
and time punch cards to crash at home.
and argue over stats and quotes–
no. i’ll just stay in blissful warm
till time and loss have passed me by.
I’ll never much improve my ways,
but here, i’ll never have to try.
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–
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Photo by Barnabas Hertelendy on Unsplash
melenoria 
I literally was thinking about writing something very similar this morning on the way to work—something about the earth spinning faster and faster like a giant treadmill under your feet that every day becomes harder and harder to keep up with without being flung to destruction, all the while missing the beauty that it feels like you should be able to just step into and linger in indefinitely. Alas, where is eternity when you need it? Time feels excruciatingly unnatural.
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Yeah, I have less optimistic versions of this. Thought I’d go with the happier one.
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