The hole in the clock

There is a hole in the clock
The navel where twelve becomes
Less than one
The clock is no spiral
Nor slinky coiled line
Reaching ever forward, no.
When days seemed like a sine wave
Alternating dark and light
On either side of a zero line
Pushing constantly along an axis,
We sought to contain this construct
In a dripping bucket clepsydra
Or cylinders, rising around, falling back down
but settled finally in the center of a circle
Dial spinning round and round and round…
So the infinite majesty of now,
Into an imaginary space contained, then that
Brought to a timeline by perception
That line bent into a circle by the hands
And hung on a nail in the wall



5 thoughts on “The hole in the clock

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