Wearing Time

The toothless cogs of stilled machines,
Mills rusted shut in eternal closings,
The silenced pens of poets
without dreams:

That void
filled with chaotic schemes that only time
can turn toward their true mirror.

Every venture
is born indentured, a slave
to the pendulum’s swing,

What is that bangle
buckled on your wrist?
You wear it well.

6 thoughts on “Wearing Time

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