Philosophy may deem time a fluid device
Which moves from fast to slow at any moment
With pointed black hands on a numbered face
That spin inexplicably quicker
When sitting in a favorite writing workshop
Than in a dreary physics lecture

And yet
There are those for whom time moves most quickly
When surrounded by numbers and graphs
And they explain that there is a rhyme and rhythm
To every moment
Every hour broken into seconds without fail
And if this pattern was to break
Was to alter in any way
Time would unravel
Each thread disintegrating in less than a fraction
Of the seconds that comprise it

As for whose view is the most plausible
The coin is still in the air
Heads for one
Tails for another
And reading the result a task
Fit for only those who devote serious time
To the study of metaphysics