Over the rims of my glasses I see
My hourglass,
brimming with silicone sand,
shushing into a small but perfectly symmetrical point.
And it continues
For one hour, 3 minutes, and 21 seconds.
This time is measured out,
dolefully, by the hands on the clock
[at the back of the red room]
in negative ticks.
Like money, negative.
The sound of the ticking is as the
chinking of coppers,
back in a time when they were black.
These grains of sand are my rations of time,
and these hands are those which decide.
They freeze, and hover, and twitch.
It frightens me, when time doesn't move as it should.
Because it should, right?
In the same way my heart perpetually beats
in natural, negative rhythm.
On the clock at the back of the red room,
where the snapshots of time that I've captured,
negatives,
emerge in changing shades of blue, then green,
then black.
The clock still ticks soundlessly back, into negative time, and past negative space, until the last golden grain falls down.
Comments
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Great job, I love your work. It always makes me think.
I found this piece especially creepy though, because the "negative space" and "green, black" etc, reminded me of a dream I had, where I couldn't hear anything, except the ticking of a clock. It was as if my head was under water. Well, great job! I loved it!
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nice write
i feel asthough i read this before but i avnt commented so i cant of...how odd. tis amazing. great use of imagery and metaphor...sorry in a rush. but fantastic
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