In simple stop watch

calculation,

One hour is 60 minutes

. . . .is 3600 seconds. . . .

3600000 milliseconds.

But 5 minutes added,

here and there

throughout the 24

in a day,

is Twice that.

I'll ponder That.

Next time,

I'm thinking

of melted snow

in July. . . .

on a sailboat

out the window

in Greenland harbor.

05.28.2023

An hour challenge @JohnAulus

I... I wanted to do something... I'm not sure what it was. I was sleepwalking again.

It's happened to me twice before in my life, a truly disconcerting state of awareness at the parapet of dual worlds of perception.

The first time it happened, that I recall, I was 16. I had gotten my own room. I cannot say finally as it was with great reservations. The crumbling of the family had made it possible, after years of happily sharing, or perhaps, clinging. Mother and Father had kept separate chambers for over a decade. Mother in the North wing; Father at the South end of the mansion. Until she broke all ties. Then for six years the room remained a shrine to Family Failure. And when it was precariously decided, by lottery, who of us two children would inherit the room, we partitioned again, and I was left alone with Father. A strange privilege, as I was not the prodigal son. I was the other child.

In the darkness of that time, I found myself one night, searching for something in Mother's closet... I had opened my wardrobe and was proceeding to remove the metal drawers. Mother had had only clothes, heaps of clothes. I had some of course, but a myriad of papers and implements, too. The drawers were heavy and awkward.

I came to waking senses... removing these drawers. I reckoned what I was doing... but not the why. It was apparent that it was the very back of the closet I was trying to find... I was trying to find... I returned to bed and pulled the covers up tight.

It was more alarming than frightening.

This loss of self-control.

The second time, I was in my 20's. I had stopped keeping track of Time... I wanted to do something... I'm not sure what it was. I came to waking senses midway down the long hall between Mother's bedroom and the kitchen. I had been walking and now became aware of the sound of the wall clock, the faint gleam of the metallic hands that crawled at minute intervals with the shadows. I felt the breeze of open windows, a scent of passing summer, and heard the relentless treefrogs, like crickets, calling...

Again I returned to bed, drew up the covers and wondered.

Dismayed at my inattention.

This loss of self-control.

The third time, decades later when all even the mansion had crumbled, I came to waking senses in front of my computer in a small, rented bungalow. I had clicked that Google browser... what's it called? I was staring in the screen, seeing my own reflection and the resulting search history. I became aware of this slim shiny chrome colored implement, a CID cal. 45 Böker Plus Tactical Pen, with pearl grip...

I wanted to do something... I'm not sure what it was... I was...

05.26.2023

...At the Wrong End of a Chrome .45 with Pearl Grip... challenge @Prose

Villans are made

most definitely

made

without love

cradled in them-self

without another thought

Villans are given

something missing,

an unawareness

for which they

must heedlessly

be over-reaching,

as if to say

what's mine

is yours is

mine for sure

and this

niche

is pocketed

like a watch

for a conscience

that never stops

to talk...

05.25.2023

Villan Twist challenge @ChrisSadhill

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

```````````````````````````````

```````````````````````````````

````````````````````````````````

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

++++ Many have Fallen +++++

Asterisks that have Blossomed

. . . . You at the Margins . . . .

_______________________

05.24.2023

Mai challenge @KyleSmithLaird

There are things

that we favor

and things that

we bar

Things upon the

tablecloth

at ready

like in a

perforated jar

a grain

a pinch

a trail

a spill

and we're

tossing it

over the left shoulder

bruising the elbow

on the lip

aboard the yacht

inherited

from grandmama

05.23.2023

Combinations challenge @Ryzaklin

i was Lost

but Darkness

was not.

And the DeviL

met us, both

halfway

05.22.2023

Own private Hell challenge @Prose

Tsunamis happen

when there is

argument

among those

Grand Forces of Nature,

my friends;

like when the Sun

and Thunder

are no longer Amis...

Then, worst case scene

all of the Oceans'

waters spiral,

like Toileted

in whirlpools

down the drain...

with nothing to show for,

and no clapper...

...and we wait

for reruns.

We wait for gentler rain,

and pray for silence

of gray blue Soaps

to burst,

to bring back the chitter

of flighted fairytales

from the bent

forest branches

whose drained leaves

are listening,

and dripping

bowed...

in fullness of color.

05.21.2023

Why Tsunamis? challenge @Ola_8

❤️Kindred,

...a little luv.note to let you know I've knit the Yurt (*thanks loose canons at Discord!)

As we speak, I'm backpacking it into the Red Woods of Oregon (not at all far from the original official outpost of Prose, no?) ...I'm setting up 400 kilowatts of Solar Power, panel by panel. Excessive you say? ...this is only temporarily a solo op. I'm satelliting the Prose future writer's getaway stitch by stitch, drop by drop, light by light, cup by cup... so that every one of us can retreat out here once upon a time to unplug.

Be ready: 24/7. Every writer deserves a little haven.

Till then,

7v7

ps. Only the ink stains permanent, red. The coffee here makes you invisible. All amenities guaranteed to help the writer... write away.

05.20.2023

Check it out challenge @Prose

it's not

too late

and no

I'm not

Sorry--

i don't

think we're

broken,

brokenend?

this is

just how

we are:

as is,

complimentary

not needing

a fix--

a fixing!

i mean

Thank You

for A L L

the spare-

parts even

those that

don't fit

fitted---

somehow

05.20.2023

Thanks/Sorry/Late challenge @akitoyu

it is neither false, nor flawed.

There are Plenty of Fish,

but the Question persists:

like in unbalanced scales,

because These are increasingly

Dead--- and, clawing Spectra,

contrary to popular Folklore,

gone fishes don't go

belly up!

but drag on, over

the Ocean floor

in the dark

where Nobody

sees...

Except, except,

for Sea Urchin,

and other Orphans

who have let loose

the very floodgate

of wet cold salty tears

drowning the ground,

that is now Basalt

and picked clean,

by scavenger Hags.

05.19.2023

are there really plenty of fish in the sea? challenge @batmaninwuhan