I'm a mime stuck in time
you can only hear my hands
and I can talk all I want
But when my mind is sick
I need a Horologist.
Like my fumbling fingers fail to
pick the tick out my mind
Infecting my thoughts and
******* my time
Seems like the sun's
always setting on my dial
As it waxes and wanes -
I haven't seen the man's face
in a while
Look up for reflection
but only see Khronic-Introspection
National poetry day