#Poetry #Spokane A Clock’s Work

A Clock’s Work


With each abrupt little snap of the second hand

The screw twists deeper, then deeper again

Into soft, fleshy, nerve filled tissue


Now, sinks into muscle and sinew

And bursts a hidden life sustaining vein


Scrapes the bone and then cracks home

Leaving fine, white dust like a broken china bowl



The screw twists

Plunging painfully into dark, soft marrow

Wreaking havoc on her soul



And then


Each moment brings fresh misery

Each second she’s alone

She watches and lives by

Yet curses the clock

And prays for his voice on the phone



Posted on October 31, 2014, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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