winding down each slow second,
clicking, ticking toward the last
instant at which all things will
stop
and leave me standing there: still,
silent, waiting for someone
to turn my key again and
bring me
back to
life.
-
- Brat Farrar (
bratfarrar) wrote,
Brat Farrar
bratfarrar
poem (by me): six day clock, wound once a week
winding down each slow second,
clicking, ticking toward the last
instant at which all things will
stop
and leave me standing there: still,
silent, waiting for someone
to turn my key again and
bring me
back to
life.
-
*blows the dust off this thing*
Okay. I am back, I think. Got a shiny new laptop for work, which should help me separate out "time to do my stuff" from "time to do work stuff" from…
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The rocket's red glare
These 'hotel balcony national anthem' videos always give me the good kind of goosebumps. Show actually start at about 2 minutes in--just…
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oof
Two weeks of employment remaining and I am ... very very ready to be done. I am frantically trying to finish up what was supposed to be a two-person…
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