I smell like the store
I bought this shirt from.
It reeks of
Instant gratification.

I want a cigarette
But my coffee cup is empty
And anyway
It’s cold out there.

I stare at the people outside
And pretend their nicotine
Is for me.

I found the historic part of this town:
My GPS directed me,
Via satellite,

Back in time.
Original flooring
Holds up the humans
In plaid flannel shirts,

[Me included,]

And original brickwork
And fairy lights
And stone steps
And tattoos.

I am obsessed by time
And juxtaposition
And where I fit.

Cities are too big,
Skies void of stars,
And one horse towns
Far too small.

I am
The wrong size
For both.

My ideas
Are too large for my brain
And too ahead
Of my current location.

I can cross
A hundred time zones
In buses, planes, and cars,
But I always find me:

Out of my place
In time.

The music plays,
Throaty and breathless,
All acoustic guitars
And steel drums.

People converse
Over raspberry mochas
And hot chocolates
Saying nothing.

I write,
Glasses off,
Moving my hair, my pen,
Saying nothing-

I haven’t already said
A million times
In a billion poems.

Seconds go by
And eternities,
Completely unnoticed.

We measure time
By accomplishments
By worthiness
By cups of coffee.

What do we have
To show for ourselves?

New years are celebrated,
Januarys full of hope
And commitment
And fresh starts.

Our commutes
Are measured in miles,
Our successes by how far we’ve moved
From where we grew up.

I receive aluminum tokens
Symbolising days without drinks.
People clap.

I make tentative plans
For uncertain futures
And the barista wishes exiting patrons
A good night.

We might even mean it.

I am baffled
By years and seconds
And how to measure my life
And wonder

If there’s ever a time
When the stars,
The satellites,
Will tell us:

You have arrived
At your destination.