A Clock Work Zero Poem by Leon Moon

An interval gains momentum as flesh,
Recovering the anxiety of time,
Moulding itself as a dagger to hearts; —
Used, but never worn,
Only rapid idealistic succession is absorbed.



The cosmic harmony forever inferred as ancient; —
Architecture opposes similarity without cause,
Outbursts adapt to cloths rung for midnight,
Magic is abandoned, rudimentary despair is forgotten
And can no longer liquidate electricity
To match itself as an object worthy of being perceived;
A ray of light strikes the flash of its own contamination,
Consumes the imaginary lines propping me up right,
Looking down.

Vague memories of impulse act like a potion,
Leaving cities to imagine their own destruction; —
Since the basic rhythm has been violated, mimicked,
Beyond the outlines of its own perfected degree,
No petit toxin can continue, anywhere but here, in me; —
The last of the worst are tricked,
The bliss waning on the Devil's horn erodes
To an echo in the wood which forever unfolds
As the final noise.

The lost continent of thought
Scurries along amnesias infected without modern restitution,
The plague of wind collapsing under branches shaking off gold
Interlocks tradition before the aftermath of hesitation; —
Barely recognised, middle aged paupers hurry to puddles,
Ashen heat in the breath of their own desire;
Some remain, some model themselves incognito
To waves of emerald, the cure of untouchable polymer,
Robing the demon with chasettes and columns,
Stolen as the God outside; —
Marching forward without remorse, except for dreams,
Robots conduct funerals for naked men,
Unknowingly breaking the last promise made from the ground.

Tumultuous square, the endless pivot of ironic destitution!
Me, my own landmark, marked with nothing but disease
And an appetite for pedigree, hollowing out veins
For future experience; — endless tunnels, ageless artificial enterprise,
Silver teeth rotting love, history frozen as fortune,
Certainty devoured by the claw of its own expectation,
The definity of understanding certified as resignation! —
A will for distortion acquires a face.
The drain of praise slaughters unknowingly, forever
Chasing its own vacuum creating recognition as space.