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Clock Hand with a Broken Wrist

from Glass, the Wall's Ghost III by Eric Beeny

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lyrics

Not thinking much,
a parade of skeletons
biting off their own tongues...

In their eyes black roses bloom
like little parachutes,
rising like sunset's bruise—

the night turning like a screw...

There is no god—
you've been staring at this inkblot
long enough to know what it's not...

Somehow we exist
clutching life in a fist,
believing it's worth the risk...

Clock hand with a broken wrist...

credits

from Glass, the Wall's Ghost III, released December 17, 2017

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Eric Beeny Buffalo, New York

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