Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋

The Clicking

I tease with words, not the components actual
that compel the clock of me to tick.
If I tell you I'm just a bunch of springs and cogs
clicking off time, the years, how long
until you walk up to another for the time?

I tempt with a tongue that knows embellishment
from the lies, can keep track of the truth,
where it wanders in a room we share.
You can lay your ear to the skin of my clicking,
know we're wasting time here, beautifully.

You could reap every thought, uttered conceptual,
that compels me to ignore the clicking.
If I tell you I love you, it's as honest as truth,
if a timepiece like me could ever be serviced,
unattuned, lying in your shop, bleeding time.


5.11.22

fictional as anything else and still yearning to be real.

Words are information and I feel like I've spilled a billion of them without being discovered as true self. Good thing they're scattered and mostly lost to time, because I still need revision. Even when I die.

I 'dis' the honest in myself to guard the truth, not wanting to tell a lie, be forthcoming without capture by something lying in wait to steal my soul...

who's gone too far with this now?