I found gods voice
In a clocksmith in Rockland.
I asked him how to turn back time
He said
"Careful use of your hands."
I smashed clocks like pills
credit card scraped sprigs & sprockets
into lines of chalk powder.
Just to hear more of his gospel
His shop closed.
Rain washed pink pastel rivers
down my childhood home
street gutters like blood
Glitter became shattered glass.
That same chalkdust
fashioned into A body outline
Ask a child
"What is your favorite creation?"
Witness the passion of a thousand poets.
Fade with age
Hands stretched out for paint
Handed pills.
He said sprig sprocket dust
"What is your favorite creation?
I can guess your mother's."
Took her 9 months
Timeless old crinkled construction paper
colorful paints in the shape of your fingers
I Cover my hands in blood
From the shattered glass
Press my fingerprints
To the timeless colors
I've forgotten
Where to place my hands.
Clumsy with time
Leave bloody handprints
On my mothers fridge
My lovers
Face down in sprig sproket dust
On my final tick
I hear a clocksmith tinker
One last lullaby
"when you run out of canvas
You will stop drawing blood
you will still leave fingerprints"
"What is your favorite creation?"
Was it worth the time?