Poetry

Self-Examination

You never know what you’ll find when you look inside.

Pull out your innards,

find the glow left behind by faulty wires

and burnt out circuit boards

replaced so many times you can no longer remember

what the original was like.

There may be a spark. A glint.

A cog

needing only slight encouragement

to fit back into the mechanism

and start time again.

 

Poetry

End of day

Evening comes – no, midnight –

and the cogs are finally coloured to a shine,

placed inside the casing of my heart

as the rest of my body, weary

from the day’s high, erratic strings

winds down into standby mode.

 

Tick, whirr, beat.

Tick. Whirr. Beat.

Tick… whirr… beat…