the clock’s second hand cracks like my very own desktop rapping headmistress.

my current peck and pace scantily permits playtime of any kind.

{although my daily fit of giggles somehow always find their way to erupt and emerge}

my list these days just seems more baseball field than bucket.

tis the first year this feathery, pink boa has started to constrict around my neck.

i’ve worked to shear the feuding and clashing hedges in my path,

but worry some of them may hold buds for tomorrow’s bouquets.

my heart, the cadence of my candlelight, the drip of the coffee pot, the rain on the roof….

they all hear it too: tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.

the house beats in one giant, gentle, cruel pulse.

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