please

the clock is blue
time is ice.
the butterflies are
creme and paper.
rust around the rim
of my mouth.
it takes a while
for the clicking to
stop.
the painter lays
down along
his brush. for good.
the writer is blue
her words are ice.
the hands are
falling away.
my body is
a clock.
is watching sea gulls
drop
a weary ocean.

this day is
my hands.
i beg it
to stop.

 

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