discord

I tolled through the house
smashing in the face of every
clock with the sides of my fists;
but they started to bleed and
I was forced to use elbows

on a grandfather who’d long
stopped tocking
whose springs made the most
delicious twangs in
the hooks of my hands

it was amusing to watch the
movement quicken now
or any sound; without
screeches in low—
low vibrations of air

that were largely unnoticed
for many of the young
years by me
by me
but I am freed

all sounds pour in past
the tufts of tangled
hair and ear canals
that finally take

as refreshing as the end
of a clock’s life when it
shatters the agony
of springs and clicking

and ticking and slowing the
pace down into a final
explosion of sound and
their ever-changing pitches
that I love.