Quiet drips in my dark room.

The last whir of clockwork has stopped,

and I am resting my nose on the floor.  Aware

of the silent machined devilry.


But we must go back to when all the lights were on and the rainbow painted walls were flashing like a circus.

There was a lamp in the corner, and

I had cut shapes into the shade,

I cranked it and around it went.  At a simple speed.


I grabbed a metal soldier.

Tick, tick. Wound tight.

I pushed my finger into the point of his little rifle, lifting it up until he was aiming.

The catch released and his gun fired puffs of smoke.  His feet began marching.

I spied a princess, I assume, with a rivulet dress and wire hair.

I set her opposite and,

Tick, tick.  Wound tight.

When I let go she did not dance, but sang a whirring drone and walked

And her head rotated, looking at me a little.


The shapes on the wall were fast now and I wound more

Tick. Tick. Tick.

A train chugging in a circle.

A mechanical dog barking.

I saw a gramophone in the corner so I got it singing too.


All were rushing madly.  Their gears singing mechanical agony, each Tick a

Count to death.

And I sat in the middle.  The orchestrator.  Watching my circus.

I stood and began capering with them.  The coloured walls morphing into stories.  And then the barking slowed.


I ran to the dog and wound him.  Tick, tight.

The princess stopped singing.  I wound her.

The soldier ceased marching.  I fumbled with his turnkey.


The lamp stopped and the light died.

Time played,

And left.


I kicked the toys, hissing at pointy metal, and I laid down and cried.


Quiet drips in my room.







Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s