POEM: My Clock Has No Hands
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my clock has no hands,
no hands to tell time,
the desires and fears
that you call “mine”
my clock has no numbers,
no numbers to count,
to count on the memories
that you’re all about
my clock has no form,
no form at all,
no place to be put,
not even a wall
it’s time for dessert,
at your table to sit,
i mean no disrespect,
not even one bit
but i can’t be bothered
to sit down at all,
when time’s just a shell
to heed the dead’s call
i’m grateful for your feet
that have carved many paths,
that have gotten me here
with a chance to go past
past the womb that you gave me,
and the women before,
what they didn’t comprehend,
is that their womb is a door
thank you for my body
and the chance to create,
a life that goes beyond
mere memories and fate
to walk through the gate,
the door of all wonders,
to leave time behind
and awaken from slumber
look up at the moon,
she’s really a clock,
a beautiful one,
with a key that unlocks
unlocks the illusions,
the records she keeps,
with the key to go past her
and make the great leap
beyond all the planets,
a sun sits so bright,
he doesn’t know time,
he’s made of pure light
so go through the gate,
through the gate you go,
go totally beyond
what you think that you know
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