The Wooden Ventriloquist Clock

wood and strings turn the clock's involuntary response. hands set in motion with the turn of a wrist, half past remembering the moment before. odd numbered time signatures pull a wooden head and hands to fold like some pocketwatch prophet. who shudders for a moment, then grows still waiting for the hour or celestrial string to slacken and realease him. he is not his own but anothers. course the hands that follow the grain of his expression, waiting for fingers to grasp and guide him through his seasonal acts. umbilical chorded gears ratchet in him to open wooden lips. the blackened ivory teeth play in minor. severe and break. how he hangs there so still and without a sound.