There the clock has no hands, no hands,
Yet the time still turns.
I didn't have no plans, no plans,
But the heart still yearns.
Down on one knee, but the church bells stopped their tolling.
Slip on the ring, but the birds've stopped their singing.
Don't you hate me, don't you hate me darling?
She's a scarecrow, but I can't stop how close I'm getting.
There the sky has no clouds, no clouds,
But the light still dies.
Here there's no crowd, no crowd,
Yet I can still feel their eyes.
Hear that sweet song, but there's nobody out dancing.
Turn up the heat, but there's nobody out moving.
Don't you hate me, don't you hate me darling?
She's a sideshow, but I can't stop how much I'm watching.
Behind the rectangular glass case
A bent head, lit sideways by a lamp
A lens, stuck into the socket of the right eye
A forceps in hand, drawing out
The innards of a dead watch.
Tickers tick loud
Tolling, the impending doom.
Watches lie about
In various states of disembowelment.
Old, huge clocks hang in the walls
Like Capuchin monks in the catacombs.
How precise! His fingers wield the tiny tool
And stab it into the underbelly of my watch.
I stand still -
My time is at his mercy.
Have you seen
Time is going by
Always moving forward
like the arms of a clock
pushing me forward
when I want to go back
I can't take my time
time hunts me
time wants me
time hates me
I want to...
not move on
I want to stay here
make it right
hide from time
and then...
In my room
On the top of my dresser
Sits a clock
It does not work
But still tries
To tick toc
When I'm lonely
I look at it
The smallest hand
Struggling to move
Paused on only one time
I think it might be an omen
That maybe
I need to move on
But from what?
A question
Roaring sound ticks
thru the clock loud
thunder cloud
under-
neath the
bed my
head roars
rain pours
buzz buzz
drops hum
woman
sets things
right time by
clocks
locks the
hours tight-
tick. tock.
tick.
tock.
The pendulum swings back and forth
on a day that would never end
If I close my eyes
I could still pretend that she's here
right beside me
Laughing, breathing
but as soon as I open them again
The pain of her death
becomes my reality
and
My
Eternity.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain--and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
Six a.m.
loud grandfather
clock in your six-mat room
always 45 minutes off
always very loud
this sleeplessness
while you sleep
through.
The iron garden-gate
was hard and wondrous to open.
Ornamentation dated it.
Up the walkway then,
into her stifling house,
where she sat in her purple
dress and parchment skin,
saying what she thought
her whole life
had taught. She was too old
to pity, too austere to embrace.
The voice seemed to come
from years ago.
Our minds assured us
we would never grow
that weird if we ever
Today I have to wake up because
tomorrow I have to wake up. I presume
the geometry of a clock. So, I
wake up because I expect to be greeted
by either a circle or some stones. Now I'm out here
with my palms up. How can I be the only
one afraid of piety. I have to
wake up because tomorrow.
Windows burnt into hard surfaces,
the territory of monoliths.
Empty rooms, dissipated presences,
blank ceilings seeing all we were.
The shades conceal cries, a restless moan.
The clocks tell our story,
kill it softly.
All the while
the smoke marks the sky
like a kiss on parted flesh.
Supper comes at five o'clock,
At six, the evening star,
My lover comes at eight o'clock--
But eight o'clock is far.
How could I bear my pain all day
Unless I watched to see
The clock-hands laboring to bring
Eight o'clock to me.