Clocks tyrannise. Faces implacable,
long tongues lick away
the hours. Time is all
they know. Obsessed,
they talk of nothing else.

But here at the turnpike –
short on change, but long
on breath – I watch the sun
bounce like a dropped ball
between solstice and equinox.

Dick Jones

If you have any comments on this poem, Dick Jones would be pleased to hear them.

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