The tyranny of time

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Melting Clocks by Salvador Dali

The maiming face,
the captain on the wall
trots to climb upon the ceiling
for its ambition to mimic the sun–
its father
its own time.

I look at the wind
how loose
for there is no rhythm,
in its fingers to seduce,
to clasp it’s own self,
and there is but a rustle
of a mellow present
without a (wait)

At my navel
it strongholds
and etches upon me like a yet another circular tattoo,
that I forgot
is man-made.

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