This the word we use to stretch
Vast awkward moments. Its perfect for those unwarranted
Inescapable excuses for distress, for those wide circled two-
Handed machines with look nothing
Like what they truly represent. Add ages
And you can market
It. We can attach it to an old memory
That we want to black out. There are whole
Shelves filled with greeting cards holding not much on them
but the word change, you can
Trace it in pictures and you
Can use it in old recipes too. How do we know
Its not what challenges the snakes slithering on damp
Trees in the middle of forests? As for the earthworms
Which crawl in and out
From underneath our feet, they scream it.
Change! Change! Sing the newborn babies, crying
Through their lifeless lips in affection.
Then there are the few
Of us. This word
Cannot begin to describe what it entails, it is only
Six small letters, too singular
to fill those long fleeting
Conversations which lead us from thought
to silent dream.
It's not change we don't wish
to happen on, but that finality.
This word is not enough but it is
Growing on an addiction. It's a single song
In this icy
Muting consistency, hands that cling
Grasping again and again in enthrallment
And torture, a triumph, but a prehistoric
Adaptation to famine. You can accept
Or fight back.