The hard days come
when speech emerges as hard, tiny spikes to the mind.
The sun bleaches out and freezes over
like a radial blast.
I am tired.
Days like this I know
that time moves outward not in a spiral
but in a flash of rays
propelled by birth along fragmented courses,
a discharge of ever-fraying selves,
an individual become as many unwinding
into less and less conspicuous spokes
in a rimless wheel.
Luckily, days like this
I also know
I don't know much.