This thing they call
The future
Happened 
Yesterday
This thing they call
The past
Will happen 
Tomorrow
There are so many
Names for things
And so many drawers
And cupboards
There are chalk lines
On the floor
Waiting to be
Drawn
Waiting to be washed
In the rain
Whilst the skeletons 
Dance in 
The thunder 
And the water babies
Drown in the puddles
This mirror 
Ripples
In the absence 
Of the wind
And the old people 
Pull their threadbare shawls
Ever tighter
The dust gathers
In pathetic mountains
Waiting for everything
To crumble
Which it will
Open your eyes
Clothe your mouths 
And raise your glass
To the nearly departed
Because time is ticking
And if you don't do
Something else
Something different
All this chewing gum
Philosophy
Will do nothing
But clog up
Your mind