Making Time Fast Or Alone Poem by Peter S. Quinn

Nowhere is always in
Making time fast or alone
Drifting in circling spin
Till it’s nowhere again found
Playful with days unaided
Into their little whiles
Some of instances degraded
Death works and open styles

Neighbors are strangers apart
Beautifully in their own
Giving their own true heart
Inside that can’t be shown
Backyards with sitting steps
Strange towns to look for
Flowing tides and ebbs
When it comes to their shore

With numbers to go along
Once you can figure them out
Locked doors and addresses wrong
Knocking down some of its doubt