NO TIME

Absence to presence,
Sun rises, filled with
Technical minutiae.
Overwhelming aberrations.
I cannot tell you how many times
This supposed love’s been put on trial runs
in sawdust
Airport hangars. Bay thirteen is
A good one some who fly say.
When desperation leaves its mark:
A branding.
And then there is nothing to brandish.
Except nothing, and a lack
Of focus, of poise, of interest.
A lack is not nothing per se.
The will to do nothing. To love no act
Except loving.
And NEVER has 'happy' floated;
Its weight my broadest burden.
And not even change the automatic
Capitalizations of the word processor,
Or the setting.
No time to focus on intentional
Indentations.
Or to separate feelings into
silly sorry stanzas.
No sun on the concrete.
Just setting.