My Clock With Broken Hands


Photo by Mark Neal on

From an embrace to a kiss


to muscle and bone

to a beating heart to fingers to a spinal column

a Galaxy of promise waiting to be born.


To a student, to a traveler to defeat and despair

to the good days when the air smells good

 and my  face hurts from laughing.


From heartbeat to pulse

am I just a collection of moments  wrapped in  skin?


From sleeping to dreaming to waking

my clock with broken hands  tries to keep time

and it will, like it’s supposed to







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