it reminds us that we are dying, moving closer every second the
incessant regularity mocks us with it’s certainty of our own
uncertainty about the fututre The Clock focuses o
ur mind on the unfocusable – the absurdity of m
an’s attempt to capture what is beyond com
prehension it captures us, turning the inf
inite into a bracleted hands and face. br
ackets surrounding numbers telling u
s where to be, who to be, for how
long for and letting us know w
e are rude and unthoughtful
human nothing more skin
on muscle on bone
slowly rotting
with no
choice
or co
ntro
l no
esc
ap
e
.
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Tags: clock, concrete poetry, death, general relativity, inevitability, life, mind, penn quin, philosophy, poetry, time
