The Body Clock

“Time is of the essence.”

I am bound to reason and bound to any act of hope
I am bonded to the ticking head; bonded to the pounding heart
I lose it when I sacrifice, spend, keep, sleep
Subsidence quite, enraged
Cautionary indeed, I wane
Unlike the water and oil effect
These two sticks cross, follow, and circumvent
And my body becomes a ticking clock
Weighted and swinging in rhythmic force
Across the desk, my fall planner speeds towards me
My middle-aged weeping hourglass, weeps rapidly
My unknown future-itch, released another little hole in me
And my heart becomes the beating
The beat between the bare, void
A fruitless, meaningful vacuum
Of insufficient want
And my body becomes a clock
Desiring sunsets than “alarm!”
Wanting time to crawl back
Into the black-hole-cave
Of the interstellar galactic, universal wrong
In which hit Humanity
Since the invention of
Fairness and hierarchy
Yes, we humans create a myriad of things
Powered by the stream, rush of illusions
Quickening us in haste, waywardly
Ruled by time, mechanistically
Which will throw us away before
We have the chance to Live
Beating into us
The twisting palm of fate’s little finger
The essence of “Now!” that will never again be
Relived or recaptured
Beating into us
The body clock


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