Madness of Time

Prose poem, time, and clocks.

Madness of Time

A face with arrows
bending around hours.
Tick and tock and ticking,
in the intersection of time.

Wishing hands were flying straight
eternal lines.
One direction or another,
A beam through space,
distance beyond
perception.

The batteries are out.
Still,
ticking turns tocking
grey and white
SPROUTING,
falling,
s h e d d i n g,
years.

Stress,
worry,
frought with fear.
A past can't be found
a present slipping through numbers,
thoughts drowning in fingers.

Wish the springs would pop
and pierce the arteries
or the liver
or through the eye.
Just enough to be,
distracting.
Not enough to die.