The Old Wall Clock

an old clock composed of several larger and smaller gearwheels hung on the wall; some teeth are worn or missing therefore the gears occlude poorly they skid and roll unbalanced no matter how long and how hard the clock chews ‘chronos/time’ with its mismatched jaws, its stomach upset with ‘chronos/time’ indigestion keeps bothering him even so, you must eat to survive, thus time occasionally goes out, lying on the cane that became shorter by time and tide and stretches his arm with open palm to ask alms from passersby; he looks worn and tired but what else can he do, it’s the karma of an isochronal pendulum alone to carry on dangling when time is shoved in to the point of twenty-four it steps on the delicate line between today and tomorrow, time must return to home and tighten an uncoiled spring, which just barely pushes time forward; then, time has to pull the lever to ring the bell relying on a worn screw that won’t tighten any more from years of abuse no matter whether the bell is ringing or not the man bruised from all day long’s abuse and punishment, has no interest in the ring of the bell but colors a picture with the colors of his choice pillowing the pillow named uncertain tomorrow; the man seems so pathetic the clock turns its face to avoid the miserable sight and each time the clock turns its face it gains a wrinkle that is deeper then the skin it doesn’t matter whether the scene is pathetic or happy, the matter is that i can count the time hanging on the wall, and that i am still hanging on the wall the wall though is partially fallen it’s glad i am still hanging on it observing human lives counting their times; the clock, with bit of embarrassment caused from boasting, stays up tick-tacking all night through