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c 2022 Heidi Wolfson, Art Cohen & Steve Lessick
Heidi Wolfson- Vocals
Art Cohen- Guitar
Steve Lessick- Beam
Recorded and Produced by Art Cohen
Vocal arrangements and production by Steve Lessick
Recorded at Alpenhof Studio, Media PA & The Accident Factory


Time is a Man-made Construct
by Heidi G. Wolfson

Time is a man-made construct
An attempt to build an in-road
to the rhythms of the world

We appeared in the middle of the diorama
and saw everything give and take
The ocean flip over itself
In opulent, generous waves
The wheat replanting itself
With every gust of wind
A world that exists in a rhythm
And we just don't fit in

We attempt to measure light
Because we always look for patterns
Call it day and night
Because everything needs a name
But in naming it, we lay claim
On concepts too big to understand
We call it light.. we call it particles
We call it ocean.. we call it sand
And even sand becomes a measure of time
We scoop it into a glass
Turn it upside-down
Truncate its path

So we are in control

Control is power, we instinctively surmise
in jealous torrents of thought
We harness what can't be controlled
We attempt to buy what can't be bought
And despite our efforts, grow old
We walk the beach with trousers rolled
As the opulent, generous waves
Flap against the land again and again
Never showing their age

We take with insatiable hunger
We are slaves to the construct of time
We have moments of thinking we are unfettered
When we are young
When we are sexy
When are fridges are full and our houses are warm
And as the outward signs diminish
And we scuttle back to our beds
We know we are nothing like wheat
No matter how many children we have

We don't flow with the wind in uniform motion
We don't have momentum like the moon and the ocean
And we don't replenish
We never replenish
We worry, we eat, we die
We vacation by the ocean
Feel it's eternity wash over us
Soak in every drop of eternity we can hold
And walk away with a single moment of hope

Time is a man-made construct
Math is the ultimate designingly
Did we create it or did we find it,
already lying on a beach,
Did shells just appear in patterns that?
Did the formulas appear on the lines of the shells themselves?
Did we name them? Did we claim them?
Is Pythagoras responsible for the inadequacies I feel?
Lo and behold; first-person, singular.
I knew I'd get there eventually.
Make it about me.

I am a product of infinite fear
A product of films that promise time travel and
of books that harness language
And make ME want to harness language
So I have some power, too.

Dammmm.... I forgot imagery.
I got too lost in the words and forgot to include pictures
I'm taking this poem back to the beach...... Right NOW.
Here we go. Back to the beach.
Not the beach near the boardwalk in Ocean City
Where scavenger seagulls swoop in search of french-fries
But the beach we all have in our heads
On which we are the solo inhabitants
And time is no longer a construct
But a breathing, living, collection of moments that are not the same size and shape
Like the water, a moment can sweep over a shell and become wider or more narrow
Greater than its sum of particles
And as I age, and lose my water, I picture my moments fluid
Like I am reconstructing the construct
Like I am slowing down time