Spillage
©December 30th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
The clock ticks on and on.
An endless litany of eternity
Talking to Time, it moves
Chasms of seconds around
Circular paths, craters of minutes,
Into which I fall, endlessly.
Time casts a spell, but it is brittle
In the face of these typing hands.
I can splinter Time into shards
And poke at my mind, till, gasping, it
Spills words upon white, virtual pages –
They flow aimlessly, like blood.
The clock ticks. A vein pulses.
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