every clock is a handgun pointed at my head
In my autistic time... Click. Slide. Cock… click.
III
Every clock is a handgun pointed at my head
Every tick, tick… fucking tick
Tolling Fear, Doom… dread
Click. Slide. Cock… click.
Every night a mantra echoes through my head
TV static… a crazy-making hum
Singing Dream, Drempt… dead…
Not done. Not done. Not done… undone.
10, 9, 8… Dread
7, 6, 5… Fear
4, 3, 2… BEEP.
Shoot the moon… or the country next door
Countdown. Deadline. Bow down… dead.
Bound behind doors, bound in my head
Pace, paces, pacing… paced
Every BEEP.
Of the phone.
Stops…
my heart.
.
.
.
I crash out with a scream for escape
II
Woods
Deep woods
Deepest woods
My ears fly
from bird song
to bird song.
A raptor circles then spirals
Crossing lines now dead
Wind steals my breath
Taking words never said
This skin bag of atmosphere
Breathes new air
When the sun rises
First it is cool
Then it gets warm
The day passes
Clouds above my head.
Shaped by wind
Outside my body
The same wind
Inside my body
The
same
Wind
Yet…
I
10, 9, 8… Dread
7, 6, 5… Fear
4, 3, 2… BEEP.
Shoot the moon… or the country next door
Countdown. Deadline. Bow down… dead.
Every clock is a handgun pointed at my head
zero
▶️Previously published as a podcast with discussion, further reading on the autistic experience of time, and accompanying artwork.
