A poem for the clicks and tocks

It feels like I’m always starting over
constantly to day one,
moving as if being chassed
by some wandering wind
bringing the dust like a sandpaper
wanting to polish me down to the bones
so I always have a bag packed
and I make my run look like a walk,
leaving my name only
with those who care enough
to remember
and keep it somewhat secret,
keep it private, like being alone together,
like when we used to hide from the crowds
and wait
for our roots to grow,
learning to crawl,
learning to fight
and learning to tell the time,
like knowing when to leave.


About Sean O'Gorman

Spoken Word poet from Ottawa. View all posts by Sean O'Gorman

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