The unintended consequences of improvisation 
are to forget and then to remember what you were doing. 

Do the timeless circles we spin erode our shores, 
and do our tides pull us places 
we otherwise wouldn't have gone? 

I worship the wasted god of time. 
How shall we ask: 
"Good enough now?" without implying 
it wasn't good enough back then? 

Round the corner, up the street, over the hill, stop. Wait. 
"I'm afraid that's a failed result, sir." 
It was bound to happen. Blazed behind the wheel again. 

But I pulled a runner. High-speed chase. 
They caught me in my driveway round the block 
naked and heading for the neighbour's fence. 

It's lucky they've got wifi in my cell. 


First published here today.