the snake which holds our house together









    the snake which holds our house together
    winds itself around my dominant arm.
the same arm which
took on the form of a disfigured wing
when I was telling myself I couldn’t fly,
                                 the same arm I then used  
                                 to punch a hole
 through the darkest corner of my mind,

    finally allowing sunlight to beam
down, letting the shoulder of that arm
relax.

                I use this hand to write, so I know it has power.

A long time before this, I decided that words didn’t have  power.
                    My throat, perhaps choked
                    by my dominant hand, was blocked as a consequence.

    At the time I couldn’t feel my hands,
    so I didn’t know this was happening.

 Instead of feeling,
               I would stare into the dark corner
 waiting for the sensation to end.
So
 I thought I lost use of my hands.

(With this in mind, can a clock with no hands
tell time?)  

    If a clock tells the wrong time,
    you should always remove the hands – it
    would be better to put it out of its misery
    of the knowledge that it will never function
    like the other clocks do–
    clear in their purpose;
    or in full control
    of their executive function.
    A handless clock is free then, to reflect
    only
    a timely reminder
    of a clockless future.

the snake which encircles our planet
       has no time to wait for later
     because later is now and before
        so the wait would be forever





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