How late

I have discovered in weeks past

this simple question, perhaps task

How late am I?

Without another single word of print

through my mind it sprints

even when shopping this day.

So I sit here and struggle to contain

overlooked notes written along the way

to how late I am.

I found in older pictures a sunset

and realize so many of them passed me by

smelling like liquor in my bed

with one single question running through

my delusional head

How late am I?

A simple question can fall into a place

where fickle time cannot navigate

leaving one asking how late

am I.