One Poem by Jonathan Douglas Dowdle

The Clock Is Burning

The clock is burning away our eyes,
Tell me what it is you see
While we are still able to balance
On the knots of our breath;
I know endings too well not to believe
That time will drop anchor;
My life only a returning from
The grip of bones, graves; loss.

Tell me what you hear,
What bird is singing in your heart?
There have been enough walls painted
With cries and anguish;
Tell me what color you want the walls to wear;
What seems prettiest and speaks
Against the center of your eyes?
What carves through you
Into the truth, and awakens
The feeling you most want?

I hang from these wires, taking chances;
Because I know sometimes change is all we have;
They call it gambling with the idea of life dangling
From the hook of time; I call it another crime of
Survival, a break against the fate
That would have erased all these days
If I had given it an ounce of quit
When only hell on my mouth would
Slip life back between my teeth.

The clock is burning away our eyes;
Peer through the smoke into
Your secret religion;
Tell me what it is you see
Before time breaks,
Before we fall
Through its hands.


Jonathan Douglas Dowdle was born in Nashua, NH and has traveled throughout the US, he currently resides in South Carolina. Previous works have appeared or are appearing in: The Opiate, Peeking Cat Poetry, Pif, Literary Heist, The Big Windows Review, HCE Review, Whimperbang, Mojave He(art) Press, Bitchin’ Kitsch, Tiny Spoon, Survision, and various other magazines.

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