Rebecca Wilson


Motions without movement

tiresome clock’s monotonous tick, click, tock
arms whizzing round and round but I stand in yesterday’s ditch.
Waking, walking, weariness of motionless movements.
I thought hell was expected to arrive on the last train,
but limbo broke free and gave up it’s seat.

Who in the FUK ever said happiness is free?
You can buy it.
Nothing is free except time.
Moving like psychedelic shit slung at your mind
ticking, tocking, taking ..... Lungs black & brittle hair.

Tiresome me.... I hate the way I tick....

I don’t know... That clock on my mantle .. The spring pings when I wind it.

Rebecca Wilson
     hhmmm, having been put in the position of "trying" to be clever with the content of this bio, i find myself at a loss. i'm better at the impromptu i believe. anyway, i write "poetry" which my family and friends patronizingly say is fine. however, the professor at our local college, (Bucks County, Pa. Poet Laureate for several years) seemed to have quite a different and less complimentary opinion. (smile).. i write for therapy which is more than any person should expect. it seems to be safer than medication and a lot less expensive.
     i'm not an artist, a photographer, a musician, or a math teacher. i do APPRECIATE art, film, music and i like math. (smile).. i travel the highway and i have 13 earrings in my left ear. that's all i can think of that's "clever".

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