Watching writing on the wall as it's being written
interiorly on photographic screens that never stop,
just always moving forward in time.
Finding time irrelevant mostly, knowing that time
is just being calculated by human endeavors and are
not reality.
Time seems to be a figment of imagination, yet we all
follow it through the years with clocks, watches, even
on computers.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem