13:1: “Clockmaker”, by Shannon Quinn

13:1: “Clockmaker”, by Shannon Quinn

I wore the tight cut glass suit of a dandy,
new to the party,
if I sat I might crack, shatter, bleed out.
There was the thrill,
like gazing into day to better see night.
Darkness ascended with her dowager shadows
full of steam powered song birds who whispered
I was feckless, wonderstruck, my head was full of spoons,
I was a nervous rabbit by the Berlin wall,
I had a tendency towards early words
that attached too much meaning.
I followed the birds to a clockmaker
who said the words in my mouth did not sound the same in his ear
and that there were secrets in incantations, in the pins and wheels
of small revelations my clattering head could not hear.
These were the limitations of my bevelled body.
He could not know my aquarium heart housed a colony of hope
that spread in the dark through the whispers of bottom feeders.


Shannon Quinn lives in Toronto, Canada. Some of the places her work has appeared include The Literary Review of Canada, Luna Station Quarterly, Halfway Down the Stairs and Ruminate. She says:

This poem was inspired by Griffin Epstein and Time Lords. 


Photograph of a vintage table clock by Jorge Royan is offered under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.



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