Time serves up our infant respite before smashing into us
As our existence progresses so we patinate it with experience
The past’s desperate resistance, clinging to time through memory’s distance
The shards of time taunt us: nothing can be re-lived
How easy life would be flushing away our past miseries
Heavier and lighter times, each there for us to enshrine
Yes, you can break free of the photograph’s exact moment
Time is a balloon which inevitably deflates. There’s no escape.
One second: a fleeting juncture, summing up as our destructor
Time is ambivalent to plans that we have for it
All London. 2010. Yashica Mat 124g
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