Sta.sh
you are an hour
sixty minutes of sixty tickings
in this hour is every word
youve ever said
i have an old wrist watch my father gave me
i say old, because five years is a long time when it is a quart of your life.
i use it to count you.
staring at the straight lines and reflecting the tubed light into a dancing circle on the wall
a spotlight for an ant
i imagine a woven straw hat and cane
and dancing,
there was always dancing wasnt there?
there was, but it was never us that were dancing. its just a configuration.
you know, of talk.
something we forgot all about.
perhaps.
perhaps.
perhaps it wasnt forgetfulness but forced ignorance.
you know, being stubborn, like stains you can never get out in the morning.
real light shows up all the flaws.
a shuffle, a pirouette, a rhythm of powerfully walking away.
i have an old watch, that my father gave me
i say old, because it no longer tells the time.
it memorised time. it doesnt move.
my brother told me all i had to do was keep moving.
it would start up again.
but i cant keep moving, with a dead watch.
no tickings, no tickings.
i use it to count you.
i have an old watch, that my father gave me
i say old, because thats what you say when things are broken.
| Deviant Login | Shop | Join deviantART for FREE  |
Take the Tour  |
I have a watch that my grandmother gave me, that never worked.
A watch that my father gave me that now doesnt work-subject matter.
And another watch that my friend gave me that had no watch face in it and blood stains. I used to wear them all at once.
But now I haven't got the time.
I also have a drawerful of children's watches at my parent's house. I should make an artwork of watches. All broken. Could be fun. heh