Wound time
Time wound

A ripped wound in time.

My unconscious wound—opened time.

A wound of time. Unconscious.

I ruminate on this wound in my perception. It trips me up. Lays me flat. Rolled into a recovery
position. Positioned for recovery.

A void my mind entered and exited—altered.

[We start with a void. All my childhood attempts to be redeemed started with the void. My recast
devotional ambition to read cover to cover. To step back from the void of belief started with
void. I was taught this nothing.]

My neurologist says to give my mind a rest—spend time doing nothing.

I sit in my backyard attempting nothing, but still collect something.

[A tree to tree hopping

Call and response

Baby chipmunks in the hollow tree

A young rabbit more interested in clover than fear

Insects in pursuit—defense? desire?

Cicadas flying with incessant urgency—mating and dropping

All calling

Familial cawing

Jays' lack of stealth

Egg pride]

In my wound, I carry a little slick of shame. A little shudder. I think convulsively on my
unhinged minutes. A little ache of over exposure.