by David Ackley


The judge hands him a small packet

that says, “For later.”

He is consigned to a box with square holes.


Patience is mandated.


The light is doused. The dark is doused by

the light. He is thrown food and

throws it back.


This goes on until it doesn't


He forgets his family then decides

he never had one



There is a paucity of fauna



Time may or may not pass



The packet in his pocket is frayed

he decides “later," might be “now,”

and opens the packet to save it


It unfolds in even folds

across box, halls, blocks.

It adapts, blends, mimics,

abides, fills oceans with its emptiness

deserts with its waiting


he swallows his serving of time