sorted out
of order,

years unpacked-
arranged backwards,

stumbling through
my clutter..

sheathing blunted
box cutter.

took
tomorrow,

hoping today
would

look the other
way,

this old man’s
45..

flips all day,
any day

it skips, it
skips..

spin cycle
sick-

it
skips,

page one
rips..

page two
sticks to script,

time tripping
on loose
hands,

but
a drop

in sea of
man.