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Poetry #322
(published March 22, 2007)
by Sue Miller
There is no time, only clocks
that tell us where we should be, when
we should hold fast the line
of linearity. After all, everything
is always
on the brink of something
else, blurring the hard and
fast, cusping strictures
that someone else drafted.

Time is my baal,
time is my regulator,
time is my anchor to sanity
as I watch the clock tock
off the moments
I count on at least this
semblance of sequence,
when I am a jumble within,
remembering that time
you promised me

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