Clockmaker with Bad Eyes

I close the shop at six. Welcome wind,

weekend with two suns, night with a travel book,

the dog-eared sheets of a bed

I will not see again.

I not of time, lost in time

learned from watches –

a second is a killing thing.

Live your life. Your eyes go. Take your body

out for walks along the waters

of a cold and loco planet.

Love whatever flows. Cooking smoke, woman’s blood,

tears. Do you hear what I’m telling you?