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?