Carved out of nothing,
a thing with no tongue
is ripped out of absence,
sealed in a cell.
Hell may now enter:
Category: Philosophical
Brighton Clock Tower, Redecorated, Poetry by Anna Tizard
I covered the clock tower with clocks and clicking watches
I did it for her.
Her mind is not unkind but she lives in space-place
outside of time.
It means she’s always late
which for we who wait is obviously
not great.
