The great clock chimes into the morning’s half light
Not caring if anyone will rise to its call.
Murky waters carry yesterday’s votes on the tide
Accompanied by joggers’ tympanic footfall.
Marbled grey clouds loom with options unthought
Above the great eye turning and blind
To caffeinated hamsters disgorged from the mouth
Of their subterranean sanctuary; scattering, disinclined.
Heads down, going somewhere, everywhere. Nowhere?
The visitor marvels at the wheels within wheels,
Immune to their liturgy, he strides on with flair
Towards today’s location; imagination made real.
© Edward Terry. April 2025. All Rights Reserved.
