Fantasy Clock Shop



at the end of town, behind the last streetlight

that has only but flickered, for the last few years

is a shop, covered in unkempt vines and pealing paint

with a wooden sign barely hanging on


I have to tell you my friends, of a place

it's secret, in some ways, barely real at all

for the pathetic sign reads only as this:

"Fantasy Clock Shop"


and in the back of the shop you'll find the boy,

skin paled from lack of sun and love

his back bent at a strange angle

from constantly being pushed aside


so do you want to know the story,

of the boy in the back of the clock shop?

bending time to fit his will,

bending time to match his spine?


the first time I walked through the door

I panicked a little, when the boy rushed up

from the back room, looking mad

hair out of place, shirt untucked


he never tucks his shirt in, I've noticed, it hangs

off of his thin body, making him look so very,

small, in the mid day light, like some kind of,

broken spirit searching for his lost soul


he has an air about him, like someone

who has seen, too much, or been

broken down, enough times that now

he is nothing more then a shadow


he sits alone in a corner desk, in the back

muttering to himself about how everything is lost,

and nothing can be found, or where in the world he

put that thing, that he lost, again


tiny springs and whatnot riddle his work bench,

he tries to clean them up, every once in a while,

but they just come back, so he gave up

like all the other times before


he will only speak to you, if you promise him

something special, like the innards of a locket

or the last part of your spine, the part that keeps you

upright, when the ground looks so very inviting


his hands are small, perfect for fixing

small things, like clocks and hearts

so broken by time are these things,

so in need of mending and suturing


the boy is living off barrowed time

he has not one moment, that is his alone

all he has, are the parts that he stole,

because he had nothing to call his own


the boy in the clock shop, suffers

from double vision, he just can't seem to

see straight, and he keeps losing his

footing, and toppling to the ground


he is alone in the shop,

no one to watch him

no one to touch him

he stands at the doorway and waits


"What are you waiting for?"

you ask the boy who watches the clocks

"What I always wait for."

what everyone is waiting for


what is the boy in clock shop doing?

he is waiting, for what he always waits for

for what the has been waiting for, since that day

when the ring fell from his fingers in the rain


"I once saw the moment," he told to me

"when a person falls in love for the first time."

the last part was unspoken,

'only one of them was me…'


ask the boy at the clock shop to

touch you, and he will do so

the smell of old tea, will be tattooed

into your flesh, for days


don't ask the clock maker to love you,

don't ask him for some semblance of hope

don't beg the keeper of time to hold you

for you will only get a perverse smile


"Shall I describe love to you?"

he once asked me, on a rainy day

"I already know." I confessed

he refused to meet my eyes


I know how your pail skin hates the sun

I will protect you from the light

I know how you wish, you could see, the sky

I promise to show it to you, one night


"is it really so terrible, to forget?" I ask him, and he,

looks over his shoulder at me, tears in his eyes,

he shouts "leave, and never return", I flee,

under the flickering streetlight, I fall to my knees