Journal hachete's Journal: Skin Wobbly
Two minutes fast: sentinels question me
as to my effectiveness at winding quantum clocks.
Have I lost the key again? Could I not find the neutron sink?
Resonators stand as rebuke. Precision captured
as ping-pong balls spinning in hypertext clocks,
italicized birch trees ticking
to the duvets' silence -
- a rabbit, on cue, beadles on to the golden stubble
between the family hour and the working week's
semantics -
now that Kelly oh so loves Felix -
staggering like field mice
before their extinction event.
Grass seeds, scattering over the lower field,
boot-strap into the next second
dynamically acquiring unseen targets
along the herring-bone edge of a hill-sides' sinusoidal wave
cradling lightly the plumes rise and the swallows'
swift ascent into the radar's field.
A broad stream of stardust flows overhead.
Winking lights emerge from
collections of real numbers
tripling amongst themselves,
chisselling inwards-out from rock.
Star-stuff is left
by the late-flowering laburnum tree for a better day.
Will the Lone Ranger
appear by the broken stile?
Will our bones whiten peaceably
beneath the black-hills vacant night?
Do I want to be the pudding that ate Chicago?
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