What Time Isn’t
The broken watch’s hands were frozen on its face
Like not to know the time was some kind of disgrace.
I pulled the back off with a knife, and gingerly removed
the hands and face and gears and bits that refused to move.
The gears and bits and face I threw away, they had no claim
upon my sympathy – but the hands – I pitied them their shame.
I put the hands back loose and free to rattle in the case
with a sign that said ‘Time is an Illusion’ for a face.
Now I have two watches, and when I need to make decisions,
one tells me what the time is, the other tells me what it isn’t.