Sitting here doused in sweat,
tasting the salt as my lips become wet,
amidst the heat waves in our winter skies,
confused beings unseasonably counting the flies.
hungry for a meaning,
thirsty for a greeting,
chaos in all we know,
up as well as below.
another drop drips from the flesh,
another lust filled tear shamefully undressed,
spirit empathy to a soulful depress,
these clock-less moments ticking to regret.
2 hands in a circle & around they go,
2 hands stuck in a repetitious flow.

following those hands we creatures do,
learning nothing from our days filled of untruth,
calorie fiends perched upon couches grazing upon TVs,
envious of a life being broadcast upon the illuminated screens,
taking the medication through the senses that take notice,
no silverware needed as it conquers through osmosis.
wavelengths, troughs and crests,
prime-time violence with nudity and breasts.
taint decor proudly hung up for display,
honoring corporation with the purchase of each holiday,
this for that and that for your soul,
here and there & imprisonment of all,
to nowhere,
to the absolute degree of zero,
thousands of years and so many books they have charred,
thousands of years and still we have not gotten very far,
repetition around and around with a dozen numbers striking twice a day,
plagiarized wars with the same goals to gain,
choking the air from the emptiness we take in,
carbon filled lungs growing cancers by the power of 10.
technology religion fueled by electrons,
radiation reflections dividing atoms within bombs,
splitting them into two different parts,
unobvious it is in our dualistic frames of heart,
either ye or nay, there is no in-between,
either stay here or fade away in the midst of the fiends,
concentration in search of empty promises of dirt,
lost yet found within the dreams that hurt,
so vague and dilute in the far corners of this,
so tame and insane in the trances of this fix,
knowledge allergen, afraid to read for thyself,
intelligence abortion, never had a chance in Hell.
2 hands circling that one point in the middle,
2 hands suffocating us with no remorse & no acquittal.
never changing & basically devolving,
some still hanging from nooses that are continuously revolving,
just one step outside of the circle to escape this world,
outstretched arms & legs reaching for the release of all that is soiled,
crying to the Universe to teach us the stories we were taught to forget,
craving to exist
nestled in the warmth of eternal bliss,
omnipresent vision severed in this man-made illusion producing this human attaint,
inviting its grips to infiltrate madness into these six billion parasites, praising their saints,
the end of ends coming to blow the lies to the shores,
the fire of fires burning to cleanse the land of its sores,
the odor of death waves its hellos and smiles with a grin,
knowing the rebirth is forthcoming to these sheepish sheep, the followers of man,
clocks still ticking to their agendas of world wide gains,
the new world order has even the atmosphere locked in hand-cuffs and chains,
cannot sustain in this setting of unnatural equalities neglected by those higher than any God,
killing with cancer as our species sews sour genes into the plants and into the sod.
bars of lock with no key,
mute lips & no one can flee,
no vocalization of personal opinions,
praising currencies born from their minions,
keep following the sheep as they march to their graves,
keep digging the trenches to conceal their mistakes,
lying to lie and no commune for truth’s sake,
hating to hate and killing to take.
2 hands counting down to the hour of hours,
2 hands will deliver the most extreme power of powers.
a simple device created to continue to the end of ends,
measuring our moments with ticks in six sets of ten,
Dilemmas of a calendar that comes to finish only to begin,
completion and deletion upon the palms of a Universal hand,
no possessions to consume,
no masters to answer to,
why this or why that,
evolved cultures stitched with soulful instinct
the aftermath,
a new life not measured by corporate credit scores,
new feelings that will hunger nor thirst for material any more.
it will all be for the taking
the Universe and eye
it will all be for the saving
2 hands rotating as we chase time.
Hearts beating in rhythmic tick tocks,
animated like the pendulum stuck in the box
Anxieties induced by a measurement made by man.
Calendars collecting currency as dates hold out their hand.
it will all be for the taking
the Universe and eye
it will all be for the saving
Intuition,
Third eye.
It’s all part of the grand making.
2 hands in a clock-less time…
Sandra Reynolds

Sandra Reynolds

Editor at NY Literary Magazine
Sandra earned her B.A. in English. She works part-time as a freelance writer and proofreader. Sandra was born in Massachusetts and currently resides in NYC with her fiance and their adorable pug.
Sandra Reynolds