the clock and the mirror reflect the same thing.

like the clock that hangs on my wall with a bird to shout out each hour, I am waiting for my moment. My time to come when I will use those three seconds to announce I am here, only to go silent the rest of the hour.

I keep my clock up and take down all my mirrors instead; to avoid myself but look over at the clock to see if it is my time to shine for those three seconds, only to find out I still see what I was trying to avoid in the mirror.

I am counting minutes like loose change wondering if I have enough to capture a life time, enough to write these stories, practice this beat, live in this moment.

I am a slave to time and a stranger to action.

I think back to my teacher who never put a clock in his room, said that it only reminded us how little we had, so focus on now, focus on the art we were making not the time that was passing and how much time was left until it was over.

I think about how much I relate that to the fact that I can never feel my heart beat and maybe that's because the pound- I mean sound of ticking has always been so much louder in my head.

I think about the roman numeral clock that hung in my sister's room, how she took it down because she couldn't read time or roman numerals anyways.

somehow my art teacher and her had the same idea.

turn ticks of moving time to taps of moving feet.

turn each tick and tock into the sound of pages turning,

turn each minute into a word, a desire, an action.

turn each hour that the bird sounds off that clock into a wake up call, into a sound of expression not just a noise that seems more like a routine performance.

maybe its not a clock that's inside me at all, maybe this clock is attached to a bomb and I might just be the worlds longest ticking time bomb.

I am the spark running down the rope, searching for the big bomb at the end of the rainbow.

I am a ticking time bomb, not just a clock. me becoming into me is an explosion.

I am the big bang theory,

I am the clock, the mirror, the reflection.