Drawer of Coupons

I like things that take a long time

Time ticks by yet I

Untimed in time's time

Burrow inside time's side

Sometimes the surface is hard to scratch 

My back aches as I hunch 

Over her barely cracked cracks

Chisel and hammer knock back to back 

The more clinks I swing

Scraping metal on metal

Bringing alloy dings up to singing rings

My invested swings rise in valued clinks

I measure the depth in dripped sweat 

And I bet more dropped wetness

Filling deep buckets lined steps mean more value

Than the contents of forget, empty butts of cigarettes 

I wrongly set time amounts equal to accounts

Of uncountable perplexing dark mountain droughts 

Tantamount to a sour stinging miscount

Of false paramounts draped sleeping doubts

Once I lift the plastic lid

I find nothing! nothing but my efforts wasted did

Clawing vainly at a lid stuck needing undid

The sting of rabid excess usually forbids

But stuck taken off pours in

Strips false for truth for sin

And I learn that next time I struggle to pass beyond another's within 

My whim of curious won't dive in head first swim 

Crushing it's limbs hit a concrete mess false depth built-in.

(In the mirror: Don't forget! Not everything you don't understand is deep, difficulty does not imply value, beyond confusion there may lie nothing but empty deserts, drawers of expired coupons.)

[05.11.2018]