Parts Per Million

Wasting time.

Ticked hours glazed over

dancing ant screens,

car rides, dinners, grocery shops,

malcontent and essential gatherings

full of pleasantries,

where one must show face and

bleed bits of time through the cracks

in strangers floors.

Phone calls and button pushes,

the illusion of life

dancing in techno color poofs,

gaping holes sweeping days

into dust bins.

All these brimming minutes,

filled to overflowing

with smoke and mirrors.

Intentions in powder

diluted into a lukewarm cup;

an immersion inside delusion

as it is laying waste

a dream.