A Broken Clock

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There is a heavy howling in the air
A muted glare
I seem drawn to these people
The tidal forces of Newton’s gravity

They’re not the people I want
They’re not the people they seem
But inevitably they are

But maybe it’s my paranoia
Built in me since birth
A faulty sixth sense
It cannot seem wholly accurate
It seems impossible to think that it could always be true
That I could always be right
But who am I to determine
When I ask, I think they lie
When I don’t, I think they will

The paranoia in me

Where eaves are ears
And I catch what I drop
They know that I am standing there
So it’s a mere fraction of the mass

Hysteria

But assuredly, I am insured

For riots
Plastic shields control what I regret to unleash

The peaceful demonstration
The silent protest

Who is shamed by what I’ve failed to do?

And now
Months after I have begun this undertaking
It is all brand new
Windex on the window of my mind
And sometimes I can see the footprints of where I’ve been
And sometimes, like this time
I cannot see where I once wanted to go
It is all madness and this no less so
So I wrap and I finish and so I shall be done

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