Sunday, September 07, 2014


tick of the clock
don’t look over your shoulder for the
sweep of the hands
though you know it’s there
and it goes on without you

if there really is a clock
and not just
an imagined sound

like the footsteps on the stair
when you were afraid to look
and finally looked—
there was nothing, not even
a shadow sliding down the banister
just a creaky step talking
to itself

like the strange noise in the car
that you couldn’t hear when
the mechanic had the hood open

like th sound of surf miles from any ocean
you heard it in your sleep and woke
clutching at strands of dreamweed
you heard it in your sleep and woke
salt on your pillow
you heard it in your sleep and
sailed away

Available! High-Voltage Lines, Knocking from Inside

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