Time Flows

These streams flow out of line and off the paper, pouring out onto the floor. The colors pool and swirl with hypnotic grace, but over the years become nothing more than a stain. Somewhere in the depths of the granular substance lies a recipe for relaxation, tucked away within the ash-colored borders of the prismatic sea. This aquatic wonderland is a paradise at arm's length that is routinely neglected in favor of the over-paced clock whose batteries never retire. Minutes, hours, days, the fruit of tomorrow is never ripe for the taking. The forgotten opportunities of this second are never good enough for the desperate beggars hitching a ride on this rotation. Another lap around its circular perimeter and the edges, hues, and shores recede precautiously against the better judgment of the defined.