There are but minutes now, minutes in motion on metros,
minutes moving in on me, on my identity, on my mark,
on my leaning, on my meaning, meaning I am moveable,
like a feast, as he said; A Moveable Feast, meaning I am
manageable malleable, maybe unremarkable, mistakable.

There are but minutes now, there are but minutes moving
in on my metamorphosis, on my undoing, on my unbecoming,
is it unbecoming? on my being misunderstood, misinterpreted,

misrepresented, missing.

I am famished, the feast has moved on, was moveable, mindless
to all those matters that manipulate me, mould me, remodel me.

Minutes, there are but minutes multiplying in metros moving,
on me, in motion, minutes, mounting, minutes minus minutes.


All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly

This month is about looking back to move on, making sure I make the most out of the minutes left to me, minutes on metros, momentous minutes, minutes made of moments.


      1. Ms. Liz

        Yes, Happy Sunday! It’s now 11pm for me and we’ve just got back from taking some new Australian friends to Central Otago for the day. Would you believe we turned off the highway onto a side road and there was a peacock standing in the middle of the road, raising his big gorgeous tail and then pirouetting proudly!

      2. deuxiemepeau

        Lucky you! What an unexpected gift! An end to a glorious day! Mine is just beginning and tonight will see me back in Paris for the final few weeks. Take care you lovelies πŸ€—πŸ˜˜β˜˜οΈ

    1. deuxiemepeau

      And now in a queue checking into Dublin airport to return to paris for the final countdown. Meaningful moments make these minutes!! Irish greetings on their way to you β˜˜οΈπŸ€—πŸ€—

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