Dave Bonta's short poem is about how money turns time into something that pushes on us. It opens with a blunt claim: time is a "demand in the present." Time isn't a calm, open stretch here. It asks something of us right now, like a bill or a deadline.
The second part makes that idea personal. The moment the speaker says anything about money, they "back myself into a clock." The image is of someone retreating into a tight corner, except the corner is a clock face. Money talk brings schedules, hours, and pressure with it, and the speaker feels boxed in.
The title, "Timeless," is ironic. Nothing here feels free of time, and the poem suggests the opposite. The mood is tense and a little wry. The speaker doesn't shout or complain. They notice, in a few quiet lines, how easily worry about money shrinks the world to a ticking.