Clockwork Pendulum

Heavy steps, no eyes, thumping across the pulsing
wooden floor with the hollow ticking of a clockwork
pendulum. Intravenously being fed by the dowager's
key winding its cogs and springs. She, a testicle-
shriveling shrew with the prosthesis of a mad mind.
Living in the archives of a yellowed journal on a
bookshelf of dust mites and memories. Listening to
the worms between pages scream, "Move the hands
ahead one hour."