quarter to time

i hear winds of change
a blowing,
flowing, jingling
in lint and seams.
cold, rigid, etched,
smooth to touch
of jaded hands
thrushed forcibly
deep, into faded, worn
pockets of dungaress.
contradictive
fingers,
grasp for wishes
wanting
to hold
penny thoughts
and dimes of time.
change weighs,
worthlessly,
heavy
on my mind.
cheap
perspectives
tinge
furrowed brow
chaffed by winds
of change
freeing
hands
palming
empty hope
an offering
to words I can
no longer afford.