Stanza-one, timer on
Run along pen
My mind the ticking bomb
What clock wears it out then
Powerhouse of my own workhorse
Catatonia is its pet alarm
Warns of mortal danger or bad harm

Math of clocks and my mental horns
Battle each other in high altitude
Where nonsense creeps into benumbed mind
Making it lose cold blooded aptitude
For the dark insane hunt of the ticking bomb

I run around with it in my mind
I am in flow of emotions, not temptations
I don’t want to manipulate my muse
Into submission beyond its grace and kind
Time and tide both clock their own countings
Time has hands, tide its crests and toughs
One framed by wood, metal etc flows
The other rocking between surf and shore ebbs
One puts human feet to trod on and rest
The other engages muses and my fingers in trance