Clock: ‘but I was on the hatch, riding on the avalanche’ – sufjan stevens


I lie awake,
my eyes connected to the clock
my ears alive to the ticking
with the tock.
some office I know well –
with roaches roaching;
a frog a-croaking,
and the mail that lies around
all cluttered on some desk,
though silence aches through
this building’s wood:
I am alive
I am alive, and
well, there’s a radio singing
softly as though it never stops
singing the sounds like those of
distant clocks
who, like I, belong
in solitary noise –
where even silence knows a way
to speak quite loudly to us still
is an hour in the middle of some night,
always more chaotic than it seems,
and calm nonetheless.



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