Saturday, July 5, 1997

eye disease

watch the clock on the wall constructed without
intention builds up and eyes go fast and         
faster still will not stand for burned coffee
burning my lips turned upward in a smile for those
around the corner can’t compete for a prize   
I wouldn’t win some sort of race
I won’t run to the clock to check the time
—only moments since eyes fell on two hands
tell me the day passes slow
this day and not that day any
other way is bad
this way serves its purpose     
well aside from the dance eyes do
with the hands of the clock
ticking down to zero hour
don’t know what is different at this time
eyes won’t stop
wondering about time

to go and I hate it too...

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