I don't even own
a wall clock
yet I keep hearing a persistent
tick-tock tick-tock tonight.
Maybe it's because it's one thirty
in the morning and I should be asleep
but instead I'm writing poetry
to relax and take my mind off of things
with the added benefit of validation from strangers
who think that my words are pleasant to read
even though my poetry feels like a big run-on sentence
to me and all of these poems are a part
of a larger, more coherent
narrative but all I can do
is amputate and crop
here and there
and break the hands off of the wall
clock that I don't own
in the hopes that for
an unmeasured moment,
my mind will be clear from all
the white noise
that tick tick ticks
away,
hurtling at
one second per second
into infinity.