Status Updates From About Time: Poems
About Time: Poems by
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Tara
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Dead Seven
I age like a tree, each new ring an orbiting armor
round an empty marrow: the things I did not learn
closed off at the center of my being, unreachable.
Of interest only to those who would chop me down to see
what I might deliver coldly from another age:
“Oh … so, you see here, this was the problem, right here.
The worm at the root, the uneven ring.”
— May 09, 2026 01:25PM
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I age like a tree, each new ring an orbiting armor
round an empty marrow: the things I did not learn
closed off at the center of my being, unreachable.
Of interest only to those who would chop me down to see
what I might deliver coldly from another age:
“Oh … so, you see here, this was the problem, right here.
The worm at the root, the uneven ring.”
