the ticking
of my orrery
douse the sun
its rise and clutch
exscind what skin it might have touched

like clockwork,
I whisper

like clockwork
as Jupiter bumps the earth
the orrery whispers in its corner

like clockwork, ticking

my soul's in the city
somewhere,
patiently sitting

I bite my tongue
hold my breath
let the anger fill my lungs instead
like anodyne inside my chest

a sea of concrete
somewhere,
singing, seeking

conjuring
and conjuring
but the moon wakes to sleep
and not much else
creeps
between the sun and the hour hand

surely

I'm buried
in the barathrum
locusts, wild honey
where the clove
is over-running

somewhere,
long removed from me
a wraith, a ghost
above the wings
my soul sits
and sings
and sleeps

like clockwork
I wait for its return
a heartless husk in the ground
the ticking
as my orrery sounds