|Cracked and Convex
Bubbled out and grimy
lens turning black on the 4 and 5.
So black maybe its a crack.
Time to feed when the buzzer screams
like a bell and all in the hall and on the
porch alert to full.
But not me...immune to the sound of
this and all mornings when there is church sound
The girl sleeping at my side barks in my
face and kneads my belly with her paws.
Is something wrong I ask?
Her bright eyes loving and loyal.
And then I see
and wonder why I do not waken to the bells.
There is a crack in the clock and that is where my
dream has gone to die. The crack in the clock
that allows me to give the slip to the night and the
The burnt looking part that obscures
so I am unable to see the number...
That scorched convextness that speaks for itself...
I will come to their rescue...
They will come to mine...
There is a clock and somehow...
it tells the time.
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