surrounded by a thousand clones
of myself—or am I just a clone, am
I just a wanna be? Is there loving
in my heart? No living in my life—full
moon washes away this squalor.
Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.
tick tock. Tickticktickticktock!
why are we all so afraid of the ticking,
of the dreaded hands of fate, failing pieces
into place, the descending fate
of our own biological clocks?
Madman on the streets,
feels, sounds, looks so familiar,
wearing my clothes,
though they’re twenty years out
of style. His eyes burn into me
are they mine? He shakes and berates me
my own reflection, begging for trinkets,