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The Clock Eater loves the taste of fine time
Sauteed in juicy New York minutes and served
With seconds spiced with instants and moments.
He’s a founding member of the Clean Plate Club.

The Clock Eater does not wear a watch.
To him there is only this moment in time,
Like a freshly baked roll it’s aromatic
Impatiently waiting to be devoured.

The clock eater has an evil, hungry soul
And he hides in unexpected corners
Waiting for a precious leisure moment
To stuff into into his greedy face.

The Clock eater doesn’t often share
The banquet that is on his plate,
Perhaps a nibble now and then
To ease the other diner’s wait.
As Judy Collins sang..."Who Knows Where The Time Goes"on You Tube.
Such a voice.  Such a song.
My bags are packed
I’m ready to go
I’m leavin’ you now
But you should know

My pen has ink
And it will flow
Soon I’ll return
With a happy glow

It’s only for
A 2-week trip
Then I’ll come back
With newfound zip.
Gonna go check out  " Beautiful Downtown Burbank"*
(*Rowan and Martin's Laugh In Show 1968)
 Jun 2022 CE Green
JJ Hutton
When they started inching their way forward,
that row of men in deep blue, riot shields ready,
batons ready, I couldn't help but love them.
I was never narcissistic, at least not enough
to think I'd see the end of the world. But there
I was, corner of Bedlam and Squalor. Corinthian
columns eroded. Bars on the windows, but
I can assure you they didn't barricade the door.
The chant that carried us downtown, grew
heavy, dragged to a dirge. My heartbeat was my
brother's next to me. My song was my sister's
next to me. And the riot shields approached,
and I could appreciate how well they held a line.
There's a swell of panic from behind. One, two,
three children screamed. The rubber bullet, what
a marvelous concept. Tear gas, effective.
And the blurry men with blurry shields and blurry
batons broke from their line and rushed.
Love can be heavy.
I dominate.
I submit.
A baton crushed against my jaw and I found myself
on my back, looking up.
The chant was a dirge was a scream was a ringing
in my ears.
And I found myself on my back, looking up.
A news helicopter steadied in the sky.
The old men watching my blood run live were
my fathers.
The old women watching my blood run live were
glad not to be my mothers.
I know we disagree, I said, as they kicked my ribs.
I think we should disagree.
 Apr 2022 CE Green
Oh hear me now
dear world at odds…
Bare witness individual ethnic mobs…
Take my words both mythic and literal,
your walls of Eden are hardly impenetrable
Open up your heart my long lost friends,
give peace and love a new way in…
 Dec 2021 CE Green
JJ Hutton
Julia, at her desk and on her telephone,
trapped in amber, an eye-open slumber.
The president shuffles past, talking quietly
with solemn men in muted storm cloud suits
and sunshined shoes. The board room fills
with tombstone grins, the bottom line
growing heavy, coming undone.
Julia, at her desk and staring at an
emerald fingernail reflection.
She's older now, the light dim.
She dreams of boulders,
of butchers, of bushy-haired
children running amuck
as the bottom line
bottoms out.
What do kids watch on Saturday mornings?
The president asks behind a closed door.
Kids today, someone says.
It wasn't this way when I was a kid, someone says.
I remember watching tv on Saturday mornings, someone says.
Julia, at her desk and covered in gasoline,
suspended in violent ideation as a motivational
quote hangs itself above her head.
About, aboard, above, we use to say in school,
the president says behind a closed door.
 May 2019 CE Green
lights up
everything else
at the same

We close our hearts
at first
cause it's so bright

The light is frightening
much more
much more than darkness

Nothing is nameless
and at the same time
carries the same name

My heart is Yours
and with me
I take your pain as if it was
my own

And You know what, my Love?
And gladly so!
 May 2019 CE Green
 May 2019 CE Green
Writing a poem
Is like speaking my mind
Only, it slows me down
Until words I can find
I take my time
And speak my truth
And sooner or later
It comes back to my youth
When I lived freely
Not a care in the world
Played all day on the street
Just jumped and twirled
Until tired I fell
To the ground in a heap
Laid my head down just so
And soon fell asleep
And dreamed of a world
Where I could play
With freedom from strife
And fear pushed away
But life is not like that
When we get old
There are things to accomplish
We can’t be so bold
So some of the dreams
Are put away for a while
And things I must do
I begin to compile
Until all has been done
And my time here is over
Then play, I can do
Until time to changeover
 May 2019 CE Green
JJ Hutton
No Plan
 May 2019 CE Green
JJ Hutton
Reciprocate, the cornerstone,
pile up the keepsakes,
the more refined the technology,
the more Vaudeville the ****** mistakes,
but that doesn't mean I'm immune
to tenderness--I could use some tenderness.
Tenderly now, your words, the soft words,
bring them to me in the sacred hours,
while the apartment complex sleeps deep.
Sing the soft words, your body supine
on the balcony. Stick your little fingers
in my mouth and draw out the side effects.
Project the man I once was back onto me
so that I might sew myself to the outline.
In your perfected feminine way, overestimate
my competence and build a life atop
the old man, the old me, the recurring me.
Warm yourself with thoughts of children,
of silver, of gold, of the roots of human desire
that split the ground and fuse with your feet.
 May 2019 CE Green
 May 2019 CE Green
I tend to be
So *******  my self
Thinking that perfection
Is what I need
When in fact
It is
The perfection
That is
My ruination
 May 2019 CE Green
 May 2019 CE Green
I over-salt the cannelloni
again, you laugh and swallow
my tongue
It's an apple sky, crisp and sweet and something
to sink our teeth into-
the radio plays
something in four-beat
ba-dump ba-dump
Living room hearts.
Hope it made you smile
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