Twelve O’Clock

The clock reads midnight
Minute hand poised as if pointing
While it hides its hour brethren
One of only two perfect times
In the course of every day

Night owls gather around
To bellow and moan, both in time
With the beat of my heart
Rushed and intermittent
Trapped in this chest of mine

And the clubs are still open
Drab surroundings momentarily bright
But I am not within their walls
Clothed as I am in shadow’s cloak
Dancing in the hollow place

Fear snakes into my soul like a viper
Almost turning me to sallow stone
Replication of Medusa’s gaze
Justified vengeance modified by time
While slowly the dial moves

Capture and release are simultaneous
Freedom separating from itself
Sliding right as the minute hand slips
Trying to hang on to perfection
But coming up empty

Until noon.

Sam