2 minutes dad tells me the clock in our red van is 1 hour & 17 minutes fast-- fierce & digital green the confused numbers spill themselves boldly like bible verse suggestions-- psalms of the back roads where deers eyes becomes silver dollars in headlights-- he says he's been trying to change the time-- make it right but that he can't find the reset button-- he probes at the clock's face with his plastic finger nails-- tells me to give it a try i have a love for clocks who tell white lies-- for clocks who hold still-- pondering a moment-- 9:52 8:11 7:24 the times held holy by the black hands of clocks on the first floor classrooms-- i love the uncertainty for so much of my life i am more than obsessed with the words of clocks-- 7:55 wake up 9:00 run 9: 30 run faster 11:00 coffee 12:30 breakfast 4:00 eat an apple 7:01 when i can eat dinner & so on-- i traded my god for the order of numbers for the promise of time so i relish when the clocks fail me-- when they laugh when they stare bold & untrue at work the clock is two minutes fast & in military time as night comes earlier & earlier & the shadows no longer cast people i find myself walking in that in-congruent space-- in the gap between the true time & the red numbers on the counter-- the air is different here-- less tense-- unafraid-- bold & frozen wild-- i want to live here where time is too busy quarreling with itself to notice me being a late body-- i walk two minutes wide-- leave my seat-- slip into a myriad of darkness--i cut across the snowy field instead of taking the pathway home-- when i reach my room i re-wind all my pocket watches-- set three loud alarms on my phone (a sort of prayer) let me wake up on time-- on time on a time oh really if i could i would wake up back in that space the gap between your arms & my psalms-- my shadows cast a body until i turn off the over head light then i am there-- listening to the soft ticking-- counting the hours my body will soon live unobstructed & sovereign