Right beside a river
lies a tiny town
inside which
there is a tiny man
This tiny man
is kept alive
by a ticking clock
with twisted hands
And he lives alone;
along the river
there is not a single soul
to make him whole
He also has a tiny garden
of which he is a diligent warden
yet no matter what he sows
in his garden, nothing grows
And what of the town?
It’s tiny, and empty too,
no ghosts, no memories
just a town
that turns smiles upside down
Yet he’s very prone
to wandering streets
dragging a bag of bones
looking for something sweet
“Why?” he wonders, as he walks
“I know there’s nothing here
no time, no hopes, no fears;
There’s nothing in these roads I stalk”
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