Clocked

hands steady, painting days wanning now wearing shades of hours clocks run blind tocs, with tics wildly lying months lurk like monks or thugs, deeply hooded in a guise of weeks muttering ridiculous affirmations to justify all the manipulative brevity shy years sulk in remembered corners, good for nothing but bitter resentments and petty irrelevent grudges. the grotesque remnants of decomposing relationships- the. crumbling infrasctructure of toxic interpersonal comnections- lie about all ovver the place, heaps of it-hazards for the spry years sprinting swifly by faster and faster and faster, mostly forgotten more quckly even than their passage. the worst, the worst years slip just beneath aware.ness cloaked in a horrible monotony. Terrible, banal- the swallowers devour decades or by dozen, slink past to slide into the waters, the same dark waters in which our god once moved before time behind life beyond death. our god begat the world in those waters. the world newly brought forth and cradled in the arms of our god opened her eyes and gazed across the waters reflected on the shifting tides the waves held the face of our god. The newborn world eyes opened wide, her gaze coupled with the image of our god and with the waves and water, At this moment a moment became something that is and was and will be. This was time. Our god placed the newborn world balanced carefully on his shoulders, a moment there and another. Our god had parted the waters. He measured the waves delineated the days with the world brand new and balanced on his shoulders.