The Church of Clocks

Restless are the

Seas and sands of time:

Tidespun and windworked

Lines of invested time.

Ever faster the full moon

leaps the mortal  fences.

I laugh now to think

How devoutly I avoided

Crossing the cathedral threshold

That leads to the Church of Clocks;

Ignored the insidious drip-tock-drop –

Thinking I was being somehow brave –

The doors that closed,

The ones we didn’t see.

Why did it take so long to realise

That our bodies are merely pins

Mercilessly nailing our want-away shadows

To the dry, stinking mud?




Harlequin and Columbine,
Struggle, again, with Fate:
Their opponent: a rich man,
An opera buffoon.

The masked showman builds a temple;
Worshippers when you enter here,
Pray suspend belief and prejudice.
We can travel the seas of time and culture;
Straight line distance
Can be dismissed
Before your very eyes.