Before I wildly speculate
(My hands are warm; my thoughts are cold)
About the meanings of measures,
I need to consider whether
And how badly I want to speak
Out the contorted thing I seek.
If you timed your featured life,
You would have to conclude your life
Was too long or time was too short.
There are no intervals. Movements
Have no moments. Trees in the rain
Have no reason to be growing.
The three-minute egg is a poem
To the nonsense of three minutes
Depending on life's atmospheres.
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