The scratching of the pencil
on the paper




it flows






it sings








it speaks to me
and to me alone she whispers
soft
and

secretive
like
silken


cloth




rubbing my fingers raw
so we write
and we write
and the heart beats




with the click of the clock










the










ticking










ticking










ticking
and she whispers
and I

obey



I twist my words






as words have twisted me

fingers aching


veins are breaking





ticking





ticking
a nervous tick



is much like the click








of the heart





and so she whispers
and I

obey
Because I know



that my pain






will connect with the tender fibers






chords of reality-






and the click?






They can hear it too
Because it hurts



and they





hurt





breathe





feel







the

rhythm
dance



to the









apocalyptic
hum
of the






atomic bomb
as it dazzles




your





fragile perception
picks apart
the





glass
and arranges








and rearranges
and clicks
A nervous ticking
Because I speak





I live to dazzle
with words thick as syrup









hard









to








swallow

A ticking in my chest







up into my throat
It hurts
It feels


and when it’s over



and the dust settles


she will whisper
“Do it again.”