I’d count the pills, you’d slip the ticks,
The clicks that flicked the days away,
Mechanical and fractured flow,
The souvenirs of sleep and fear.
You would have been with me throughout:
Between the pier and Marble Arch,
Before the facts, before these deaths,
Before computers drove my world.
We’d count together, fall as one:
Your face at night, at two, at three…
I’d ache with age, you’d creak with time:
The world outside would take us soon.
We might be measured, might be cast,
My skin as dust, your cogs as rust.
part one of five: “The Things (Les Choses)”… a history of the ordinary.
Gorgeous. Can’t wait for the rest.
Can’t remember the last time I kept a clock at bedside. I don’t want to know what time the middle of the night is.
I know what you mean. I usually know what time it is, on account of I pretty much always wake up bang on 3am for half an hour or so. used to bother me until I heard that, before electric lights, people regularly used to split their nights like that. Time – and its measurement – is a funny thing.