Of Clockwork and Spirits

Sometimes

I reverse the secondhand on the Winnie the Pooh clock

I assume my Jack Sparrow persona

And I walk out into the shadows to meet with my fellow clock workers

The Spirits           

They walk with a stride they were told to veil

They twirl their pocket watches and smirk at the brutalities we place upon ourselves

They dance along the deformed path to hell

Shoulders lifted and palms face up

As if saying

Ballet or Macarena?

I see my grandfather amongst the Spirits

Holding his tears on his fingers

I follow him

And we stroll through the alleyways

He tells me

Step on the cracks

And I do

The hymn of the great Native Americans

Seeps into our mouths and ears

We embody the drums

Sword in one hand

Sour gummy worms in the other

We ignite the walls that encircle the warped wits of lost souls

Because, as my grandfather says

We must choose our own ways to burn

And we must burn in every way possible

So with a hum

We sneak under a magnificent Baobab tree

Roots intertwine themselves with our fingers

We sit and breathe

We breathe fire and ice and tulips

Faces radiate with the colors of the cosmos

Auroras dance the bolero time and time again

I lay my head on the damp, dewy grass

As the irises of eyes follow the music of luminous giants

My grandfather closes his eyes as roots unfurl

He smiles with great sincerity and lifts his head in triumph

It is here

That I learn of nostalgia

It is here

That I know time is circular

Faces fade                       

But wistfulness does not

I feel my tears upon my fingers

The auroras vanish from sight

But not from likeness

I crawl along the deformed path to hell           

As I was taught

I dance the splendid jazz of the rejected and of the misplaced

I tap with the headless Spirits a dance of the lovelies and of the children who are misshapen

I tango alone as the moon sweeps over the sun

An eclipse that only the chained can caress

And as the heavenly celestial orb descends beyond itself

Masks intensify themselves

Capes become wrinkled as they become one with the earth

Shoes of the wondrous stallion become the shoes of an ant

And I

I bite the dust and bring to an end my dancing

For clockwork has stopped reversing

Author's Note

Criticisms?

Reviews

[John]

A great poem that argues against a clockwork universe. The lines with tears in them were really quite stunning.

[Gobinder Singh Dhindsa]

Beautiful!

[insertwittynamehere]

Thank you!

[Gobinder Singh Dhindsa]

Welcome