My clock has stopped. It says eight forty-four but it's nine thirty-eight. It stopped when I wasn't looking or was looking but didn't notice a few days ago, the knobbly black fingers frozen, pointing west.
I take time off, feel its chilled curves dig into my palms, another river among many. Held up to my ear a soft heartbeat, my thumbs squash numbers three and nine.
On your back. The old red tube removed with my nail like flicking a splinter out with a needle. In snaps the new guy. With one spin of the white wheel, a new breath.
Written: November 2013 and March 2014. Explanation: A poem written in my own time, starting at 21:38 and finishing at 22:08. During this time, I changed the battery in the clock on my wall while writing a poem about the process.