- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Clock
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The world is perfect; in sync, I think, and nothing should bother me soon,
My room is especially cold today, my blankets' a warm cocoon.
The birds are chirping outside my house sounding like angels to me,
I'm feeling so good and so safe right now, I'm verging on ecstacy.
My punctual clock awakes on time, breaking that feeling so deep,
He's screaming his digital face at me and tearing me from my sleep.
And when I arise each day, almost precisely at five-fifteen,
I wonder which one is the man of us, and which one is the machine.
