A slave to the second hands for a life’s quarter,
The slaying of minutes that wretch my skin.
Come may the hours that fill my chesty pockets
With mindless green that ache our bellies.
My dark room becomes darker so nobody can
See the damp corners where I still cower.
May no man, nor lady, nor angel notice my
Bedtime wallows and take this perfect image.
A disposable cog in the effort to make time
And to lose rhyme from the reason of its quality.
These photographs of us children, deaf to the ticks,
Distress me with thoughts of heroic tales.
Tick, Tock
Grow, Hollow
Learn, Yearn
Learn, Turn
Prove, Improve
Work, In Murk
Remember, Dismember
Try, Cry
Now repeat
Until silence…