Chasing the Future

I was talking to yesterday and as usual it wasn't listening. He pointed and said, there's a hole right there in the thigh of your pants. It's only a little one now, but be careful. They get so big so fast. Don't ever take for granted your linear existence. Mentallity doesn't give a damn what physics says. You're stuck here with me until that hole grows big enough to let you out. We're all stuck on this checkerboard playing square dances with plastic kings and ugly quuens until the castle and the rook coordinate their paths of attack.

I was listening to the future. Humming softly like a spinning fan. Whipping everything near it into a frenzy. Psyching it could reach out and grab my wrist. Shake it laterally until those pushed up sleeves of mine came loose again. It has some pungent instrumentals to share once in a while. Sometimes jazz I don't really understand. And as I am inched ever closer to it it tends to slow down. Abandon its static frenzy for some anemic braille. And as I rub against the raised partitions that dictate the life between the former and the next I conspire ways to catch that other me that's always running ahead to make tomorrow occur.

Perhaps I could slow her down. Or at least explain to her how wrong she is.