If I can write haiku, which I do,
Then one hundred words should be plenty
To carry out a fiction so fine
That it impresses the cognoscenti.
So here goes: I am not human, I am time. I am as tall as the minutes that make me, as weighty as the hours that haunt me. Twenty-two years still stretch before me.
A century. My goal. Foolish, perhaps. Presumptuous, no doubt. But I need every tick of the tock—to learn and to understand.
As I count down seconds ’til there’s no me,
I retain hope that someday I’ll know me.

Richman, a resident of Monroe, has been a freelance journalist and communications consultant since 2007. Prior to that, he had a long career editing business publications, including Whole Foods Magazine, where he was editor/associate publisher for 13 years. Recently, he led three poetry workshops on three cruises.

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