How long have I been doing this? 

Counted on my fingertips, 

no second lost, not one dismissed.

They’re stored in some covert abyss

and can’t be missed, 

they can’t resist,

they coexist  

with zip-tied wrists 

and balled-up fists,

these moments on my fingertips–

today is on the waiting list, 

today’s a clear-cut plagiarist–

when yesterday fell short, shortlisted,

today insists it preexisted,

now yesterdays are knotted, twisted, 

zip-tied wristed, balled-up-fisted, 

abyssed, dismissed, blue fingertips, 

about today, they reminisce 

and ask each other, in a hiss, 

how long have I been doing this?