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this is how the alarm clock is silenced.
i could put an alarm clock on the page
and call it poem,
you could put a bathroom stall on the page
and call it sculpture (poem).
say it, poem (it, poem)(i will write it, poem).
what a clever trick
to squeeze a bathroom stall (the clever trick
is in italics) between an alarm clock
and a page, between
a squeeze and a clever trick!
how much does the alarm clock wishes to
fly (envious time, till thou run out of thy race).
a car crash may or may not end this flight.
the alarm clock feels lonely
after watching me
(i, the speaker of the poem)(do not
trust what the i shows you,
this is all a construct of the text)
walk toward the bathroom stall.
take a xanax (aspirin), the alarm clock
feels its heart pounding against the walls
of its chest (there is no heart here,
the alarm clock is a construct
of springs and cogwheels),
meaning might or might not be found here.
you may or may not end up
with a migraine. either way, none of us
are getting out of this alive, perhaps
by way of a car crash on the highway
away from one's abode, the comfort
of a bed, away from your embrace. is there a way of
triumphing over death, and chance and thee o time?
from the question, the end is nigh.
there should be here a turn,
an answer, a resolution,
or a car crash.
should it even matter?
you and i are not even on the same page.
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