RareForm
Bluelight Crew
I've reached an age when people give me clocks,
wooden travel clocks inscribed with warm wishes,
leather clad mantle clocks on brass feet,
digital age radio watches with atomic precision.
What are they telling me about time?
that I am now so short of it I must be given more?
Is this their way of extending my impoverished hours?
Sympathetic magic for the machine age?
Perhaps they hope to soothe some worry they reflect
from my face and slowly moving hands.
It may be that they see an all too casual
attitude as I jerk myself through the hours of my days.
I don't know.
I accept their gifts and grow my little collection -
putting clocks upon my desk, upon my mantle, on my walls.
I strap one watch to my wrist and place the others
where they can be grabbed up at a moment's notice,
and yet I never notice them, never notice what's the time.
And this then now is what has
happened to my time:
It has futured itself into a gift
that I don't know how to use.
wooden travel clocks inscribed with warm wishes,
leather clad mantle clocks on brass feet,
digital age radio watches with atomic precision.
What are they telling me about time?
that I am now so short of it I must be given more?
Is this their way of extending my impoverished hours?
Sympathetic magic for the machine age?
Perhaps they hope to soothe some worry they reflect
from my face and slowly moving hands.
It may be that they see an all too casual
attitude as I jerk myself through the hours of my days.
I don't know.
I accept their gifts and grow my little collection -
putting clocks upon my desk, upon my mantle, on my walls.
I strap one watch to my wrist and place the others
where they can be grabbed up at a moment's notice,
and yet I never notice them, never notice what's the time.
And this then now is what has
happened to my time:
It has futured itself into a gift
that I don't know how to use.
