The Pendulum At Rest

For Katner & Bowie & All The Rest

As They pass—
the gods we have made—
as in a dim & silent gallery
of funerary monuments
my every step echoes,
the knelling of a bell,
around some corner,
growing closer.

Tower or spire,
mantel or grandfather:
it does not matter.

The tick-tock cog advances with
cold, Newtonian precision
as the weight descends
with gravity’s inevitably
toward the last chime.

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