Draining

The clock’s face stares in pale, paternal bemusement,

His arms judge, phasing

Through frustration;

Through confusion;

To resignation.

As gears churn onwards, grinding, tutting, sighing,

He will always remember

What a waste of time you are.

Perhaps it is true, I care not to heed

The sordid bile

Of a tired and witless personification-

No, you are not time; you are a meter,

A heartless tick within whom life drains and peters.

The time that I feel is a fluid expanse.

Arrhythmic contractions

As shallow and deep as you see.

I waste as I need, give as I wish,

As guiltless as I please.

I pause to breathe and wade in its song.

I bleed into its asynchronous pulse,

Eyes adrift, gaze a-blurring,

Watery, meaningless scans and skips across the floor.

I ebb, I slow, I fade to a crawl.

Watch closely.

Now it’s one.

Now it’s twelve.