Clockmaker with Bad Eyes

I close the shop at six. Welcome wind,
weekend with two suns, night with a travel book,
the dog-eared sheets of a bed
I will not see again.

I not of time, lost in time
learned from watches—
a second is a killing thing.

Live your life. Your eyes go. Take your body
out for walks along the waters
of a cold and loco planet.

Love whatever flows. Cooking smoke, woman’s blood,
tears. Do you hear what I’m telling you?

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