Un Petit Poème



I take people apart like clocks

To see their workings from inside

What gives him his bright, wide smile?

What makes her unable to cry?

What helps her through everything?

What makes him decide to die?



If I learn these inner secrets

The mechanics of emotional life

What makes them tick and keeps them ticking

Can I then repair myself?

Comprehend this intricate system

That makes me me and everyone else


For we are not just separate clocks

But the web of time itself

No one's hung upon the wall

Or displayed upon a shelf

Not a bunch of cloistered cuckoos

But a symphony of birds

And time is just a notion

Equally this string of words