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Tick Tick Tock

Every dinner it’s the
Tick tick ticking of the clock on the wall
And yes yes yes I know it has no hands
But green lines to make up
The figures that show time passes without
A sound

But silence has a sound

It is the tick tick ticking of the clock
That does not exist but
In the minds of the silent
Waiting
Watching
Wary

It is the clack clack clacking of the forks
As they hit the plate
And ring around
And break the steel sound
Of silence

What do the forks need?
Who do they kid?
Silence cannot be
B
R

O

K


E



N
Ever.

Behind our words
There is the ring ring ringing in our ears of
The white noise that the sound
From our lips tries to drown like a raging river
Rushing though the dew in the quiet morning noon
It never never works now does it?





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Cookie said...
Aug. 23, 2010 at 8:43 pm
Very good, I like the repetitive (three-part) phrasing, it helped make the poem more physically alive and drew attention to those phrases.
 
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