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12/17/10 - (2)
In Circles
The three hands of the watch banded to my left wrist (Sweeping second, fidgety minute, lumbering hour) Are preoccupied with dragging time around, in circles, Their sole purpose being to wear a groove in eternity, Albeit minuscule, a scintilla of infinity — A job usually relegated to beasts of burden, dray creatures, Not precision mechanisms easily broken.
Tonight, I keep a bead on the face of my timepiece, Hoping to probe the esoteric mindset of its complications, Penetrate its inscrutable implications, Reasons why my life requires incessant measurement, Insists on temporal designations, demarcations. But the longer I stare, the more I just grow older, Feeling time's three hands tightening its circles, around me.
12/17/10 - (2)
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