assassinhands of the clock

    see the old man

hes been every tick of every clock of every time-enslaver since he was born

a coolie

        a kuli-slave  deaf slave    deaf to the myriad ticks

human beings are dictatedarranged arraigned  deranged by time

untimely  late

                our independence

times escaped criminals

                             for the time being

eventually whirlingprowling secondhands find us have us again by throat

theres one clock we confide in

that is our unique assassin

                              other clocks are accomplices keeping an eye on us for it  surveilling us

and as they watch they reel and grin arms wild hands spasmodic  enthralled

                                                                                   because theyre in on our murder and anticipate it like children waiting for when Christmas comes to unwrap their pretty wrappedanribboned gifts

they expect our compliance

                              murderers must have their murdered

and because the old man knows this he goes out and smashes clocks

he kills the killers

                     then returning home near senseless with joy and optimism he patiently waits to turn his voluptuous hourglass  she has seduced him with her soft movement her subtle goldengrains of sand

he believes because she hasnt hands she wont be partywont be watchingwont  be a voyeur when he dies

she quietly reminds him of the Sandman who hums Smoke Gets in Your Eyes when he tireswhen his head nodswhen he retires to bed

               and as he strips the bed down changes into his nightshirt she mutters Old man, you better dream like a motherfucker because you aren’t coming back from this ride.

shes in on it  shes time

                           . . . cool bluewater . . . hes swimming like when he was a boy . . . he shakes its grasp  like a flyingfish sails over the sundappled sparklingsurf . . . the water grays  darkens . . . tick . tick . tick . tick . tick . cuckoo . Where? he wonders . . . he struggles to breathe . . . hes suffocating . . . he thinks I’m dying . . . You are . . . You filthy pig! . . . Old man . tick . tick . Are you that greedy? . tick . tick . tick . You’ve had a longer life than most . tick . tick . cuckoo . You’ve outlived everyone you knew . tick . tick . tick . tick . the sound of clots of dirt spadefuls replace the black lapping waves . tick . tick . lapping at the edge of his unconsciousness . . . he thinks he can beat it Wakie! Wakie! he tells himself . . . Open your eyes, open your eyes! he urges himself . tick . . . but he cant . tick . tick . he tries to pinch himself . tick . cuckoo . but he cant . tick . he cant move . tick . tick . hes under blackwater . cuckoo . . . I’m not coming back.

pitchblack

    TICK . TICK . TICK . . hears assassinclock as it kills him         

2316,  Tuesday,  14  9. 04

345preferred,  Saturday,  22  6. 24

The Platters  Smoke Gets in Your Eyes  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tHJRJC_5gzY

Chamber Brothers  Time Has Come Today  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hIqwzQ7g-Cc