Ink Slinger’s Cafe

This handless clock stares blindly from it’s tower,

Refusing to acknowledge any hour.

But what can one clock do to stop the game

When others go on striking just the same?

Whatever mite of truth the gesture held,

Time may be silenced but will not be stilled,

Nor we absolved by any one’s withdrawing

From all the restless ways we must be going

And all the rings in which we’re spun and swirled,

Whether around a clock face or a world.

-Adrienne Rich, A Clock In The Square*

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