"You stop the clock in your paltry chest.
The one that says choose, choose.
Wind that desired backward. Ring
the alarm. When you wake, no more
pain. A mirror like a window looking out.
What can your past now say to you
that has never been said before? What
of that clock that forbade you to move
forward. What of the clock that asked
for nothing but passage, the minutes
careening into you like a fitful arrow.
What of the clock that summoned nothing,
not even mercy. Once you tired of wanting,
a face to break, you started the clock again."
