I do not look at my watch to see time
I look at the hands
that sculpt us
searching for the final shape,
touching every stone,
bolting every nut of second,
tightening them,
screwing them, into an ethereal length,
in animation of these phantoms,
frozen
in the sempiternal blank of motions.
I do not look at my watch to see time
I look at the length
of being frostbitten
in the culmination
of all these lacerations we name living,
this sophisticated jungle
we name civilization.
I do not look at my loneliness
I look at the fact of my connection
to something beyond,
alienated from of collective alienation,
in our leagues,
our desolated togetherness.
I look how indefinitely fluid I am
in silence,
and how fluidly rigid,
in the intersections
of interjections.
I do not look at pasts or prospect
that aren’t even there.
I look at now
that stays
forever.
