Pointed Irrationality

Shadowy movements within bonds of black
Crawling about in the unseen binding
In the hands of a clock ticking loudly
As the silence overwhelms us, “Click-clack.”


Often in the shuffle of a cat’s paw
Trying to play dead but it goes, “Click-clack”
Rounding the corner with bright eyes and steel.


The taps of shoes on concrete sound, “Click-clack.”
A man in shade walks wickedly, smiling
In memory of doors and a passkey.
A dream-state meaning nothing in playback.