Clockmaker

Weaving broken asteroids
You’d think that’s raw and impossible
You’d think I was insane

No.


I’ve shoveled your rocks for the longest hour.

Patience and waiting to pull a nebulae’s
   Shell back is commonly absurd.
I used to shout for God,
   Buy my skies became overwhelmed; formidable
Shooting Tasmanian clouds at me,
   These clouds severed truths
                 Of my childhood.
You dare to call me young and dumb,
But dull is the new age of solemn.

No.
I’ve shoveled your rocks for the longest hour
You idle universe of swine,
Too careless to use the twelve hands
                 you have
     in this crooked circle
of unscented lather called earth,
look at who I am now.
 Fingers of sewn clouds though
    Time? Time is insatiable,
             Brother of The Youth Collector

His eyes roll to the left.
           Whatever happens now, Time is to blame.
I bring the saw for the Clockmaker.