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These clocks are beautiful. hanging open, like the red ringed moon of a womans mouth begging for a good fuck; risking all your stars for a hard luck you can touch. Call it a fetish. or nerves.
I found quiet holiness in parking meters. measuring time undetectable as god and i'm caught in an act of obsession. caught up in the clock and witnessing addiction midstroke. believing with an untrained eye the glance of a superstitious moon when things go to be
so suddenchange. you take your time. i take my chances. rolling dice in the cheapest corners of my mind when i remember the promise i made
when you asked to evoke a change.
these scientific saints, searching the sky for some reaction.
some testament that the numbers were right and add up to that night you dreamed up a prediction.
but i'm caught.
i let them tick tocks stop that clocks expired i'm trapped. undetectable as god.
and i'm saying my prayers. they roll like dice.
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| | Posted 12/3/2008 5:57 AM - 6 Views - 0 eProps - 0 comments
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