Time flees, despising the present

 Like a moment. He makes fruit. Enter the moment in the thick rain. Time gets wet. Draw in it the inevitable. Fictional memories that resonate. Mocking they run away. Vibrating rattles. In a trance, Time flees, despising the present. They say it feeds on our intimate memories. He flees and flees with his arms in front as if wanting to reach the infinite past. Snuggling there to all that was lost.

Palimpseste sur painting. Mirror Sub-Irrealism. Random intratextuality.