Finding chunks in the string of time,
Events spaced apart, no one action
Directly after its predecessor,
We are unsatisfied with the gaps between birthdays and long weekends.
And so,
Like tiny whisks,
We stir and whip our lives,
Spreading marriages over years
Like jam on toast,
Mixing our dull footsteps with our roaring bounces,
Easing our path,
Removing large rocks and logs,
Trying to dilute the rich marshmallow fragments in the hot chocolate of existence,
So that we can live smoother, longer, slower.
But we,
The whisk,
Rust in the shower of control.
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