Dave Bonta's short poem is built from two images, and both are about time going strangely wrong. The first compares a day to a clock with no hands. The clock is still there, still round and face-like, but it can't tell you anything. The day feels shapeless, as if nothing marks its passing and every hour blurs into the next.
The second image is more playful and a little more unsettling. The day becomes a "copy of the future" that the speaker has to "return tomorrow," like a library book or a borrowed item. That suggests a day that doesn't really belong to the speaker. It's something lent out, to be handed back almost before it's been used.
The speaker seems detached, maybe bored or stuck in a kind of drifting routine, though the poem never says so outright. The mood is quiet, hazy and slightly eerie. The title, "Timeless," can sound peaceful, but the poem hints at something emptier: a day with no shape and no real ownership.