Reverse Gear

There is an unusual
Abrasion now
(A kind of surprising
Frustration)
When the past explodes
Into designs unrecognizable,
The present fades into
The in-between zone of
Yesterday and Tomorrow.

So the minutes slip into
Hours, and the hours transform into
Quick days, the nights stumble into
Another boring weekend, and
Soon these dreams, desires morph into
The regrets of yet
Another day.

These days need to be diced, while
The nights should be made transparent
So the ghosts of the
Hours that passed reveal the truth
Of the minutes that were, these minutes
Can tap into what and when exactly
Did this erosion
(This stupid, stupid corrosion
Of character) take
Place.