the perfect moment By vangoghsear time doesn’t wait for the perfect moment. it rolls steadily on, like a ball, on the side, of a road, in a gutter, on a hill, toward a rain drain grate... each revolution of that ball in the gutter marks an image of a minute misspent. another instant, the perfect moment eludes us once again. you glimpse the moment the movement masks as the ball rolls relentlessly on gathering visions, glorious dreams like wet leaves stuck, like a fool to a scheme, it’s there and then it’s gone. we reach and we crawl! we grasp and we claw! at the ball spiraling ever down. receding away, proceeding always, towards the rain drain grate... where it drowns.