JOESCAFE

CLOCKWATCHING.

Take these words and eat them.
Take your time and use it.
Twenty three zero seven says my digital clock.
Everything can be measured and timed and analysed.
Everything can be written down and understood and re-explained
By someone cleverer than you or me.
But no one knows why feelings come or go or last forever.

I walked across that burning bridge
To reach that special place in your heart
And when I got there it was twelve twenty two
And you said you had too much to do
To waste on a clock-watcher like me.

She poured some wine on her wounded pride
And said that one of these days
The right man would come
To fill that space in her secret heart
Where cold winds wandered and no grass grew.

I was standing on the other side of my shadow
Listening to some actor telling me to take these words and eat them.
Because if you don’t you’ll be sorry for what you said
And sorry for what you never said.

I poured another orange juice onto my bitter-lemon tongue.
All of those rainbows I’d stolen were surely meant to light somebody’s way.
But most people these days wouldn’t even give you the time of day or night.
It’s twenty three thirty three and I turned out the light.

Everything can be measured and recorded and transmitted live
By satellite into your own back garden for a very small fee.
The actor walked off stage and hailed a taxi.
And I heard my old lover shouting across the burning bridge
Inviting me back to that special place
Where only lovers know what only lovers feel.

I started to heal and taste the sweetness
Of every second upon her tongue and in her eyes.
Then a stranger stopped and asked me his way
And I directed him straight to the edge of the world.
He didn’t take my words and he didn’t eat them
He didn’t even take the time of day I offered to give him.
He just lay himself down on a piece of wasteland
And waited for his friends to come and find him.

I walked backwards across that burning bridge
Trying to find my shadow, trying to get back
To that special place where all is warmth and oneness.

And the clock ticked on with new moments
To write about and record.
Smells and sights, scars and scented caresses.
I threw some tomatoes onto the stage
Where my shadow rambled on and on about
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.
And then the clock-watcher finally said
Lights out please, it’s twenty three forty six
And time to get some sleep.

Piczo