Daylight Savings

I listen repetitiously to the twelve strokes of midnight, far and near, they sing. And while counting back the twelve strokes, I lose myself in tomorrow's concave footsteps. Thus, before me, a de novo serenade of countless moons and stars and suns, all conspiring w/ the twelve strokes, here and there, to shepherd me like far-sighted angels, w/ whom, will allay me for everlasting salvation.

So I won't anymore borrow your time

on sunshine days and sunless nights

for at the stroke of midnight's severance

I, a docent wanderer, will listen to jazz

in an underground of my own nirvana