I own a clock that can’t tell time —
Acts like an unruly street mime.
Not only does it refuse to chime
At any quarter of or on the hour,
It always runs faster or slower
Than time itself, and often backwards.
Its hands clap out nonsense words —
There are no numbers on its face.
I turn a ring to change its pace,
As though duration is relative.
Its works know no imperative,
Not like an hourglass, but a sieve.
