A mouse can’t eat an elephant,

not in one sitting at least.

That’s what we can boil it down to,

the basics of possibility

in that everything

becomes an eventuality

eventually.

When you learn

to scuff the corners off time,

it becomes something else.

I like to shake it out

as if it were a tablecloth

on the front steps.

Free the crumbs

into the wind

and see what grows

when the tides settle

enough

for things to find a place.

When I’m done

I use the same folds

to pack it away.

No harm in that.

Better than bending time

into shapes it won’t understand.

Hidden,

it can’t do much

but carry on as it was,

idling the hours away,

the minutes, the moments,

the breathes.

I wonder

if time can waste itself?

Perhaps the dark ages

were teenage years,

where getting out of bed

seemed pointless.

It was easier

to let things muddle by

without any real effort.

Asteroids were an eraser

but like any chalk board

a few ghosts get left behind.

They only bothered

to try clearing it all once.

Maybe they lost the ladder

used to reach the top

so these days

they only blitz

patches they can reach.

You would have thought

that in this sort of era

an upgrade would be called for,

a whiteboard at least,

less mess to clear up

at the bottom of the world.

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And now for our daily prompt (optional as always). I’ve found this one rather useful in trying to ‘surprise’ myself into writing something I wouldn’t have come up with otherwise. Today, I’d like you to take one of the following statements of something impossible, and then write a poem in which the impossible thing happens:

The sun can’t rise in the west.

A circle can’t have corners.

Pigs can’t fly.

The clock can’t strike thirteen.

The stars cannot rearrange themselves in the sky.

A mouse can’t eat an elephant.