The earth must be standing on an edge.
On a tipping point,
or on a shapeless bumpy surface.
Otherwise,
There’s no real good explanation
to why I’m awake,
almost every night,
between quarter to four and
four thirty.
There’s really nothing meaningful to do at that time.
I mean,
I’m not going to wash the dishes,
fold napkins,
or read the newspaper.
Who reads the newspaper nowadays anyway?
What is there to read?
It’s like endlessly digesting the diary of Trump,
fake announcements of Netanyahu,
or fairytales by Putin.
No one updates the news at four thirty in the morning.
It’s the same sh*t as it was at midnight when I went to sleep.
It’s not even a good time for sex.
I’ve tried.
There was a time
when I used to write poetry
between quarter to four and four thirty.
I summoned the previous day.
I looked forward and ahead.
It was my own noisy time
while everything else was quiet.
But now this time slot is just an empty and disturbing space.
A void.
It gives nothing to the world.
We might as well erase it,
and have a shorter day
of twenty three hours and fifteen minutes.
That would shake things up.
Rais some questions on the meaning of our existence.
It will require our total concentration.
Cool all other tensions down.
The twenty four hours system is apparently numbing us.
It’s too easy.
Making us make up problems that are not real,
like the length of a skirt,
the shape of a beard,
or where someone’s born.
Trump, Putin, Netanyahu,
and all those other grumpy old men.
They should be given this time slot of void and together in Musk’s space shuttle,
be shot up to Mars,
and there,
they can build up a three quarters world with their three quarters stories of hate.
That would make me fall asleep like a baby.
©Uzi Geffenblad 23/7-2025