It dreamt it was a metronome.
It dreamt it was an egg timer.
It dreamt it was a stopwatch.
It dreamt it was the display on a VCR
in the 1980s
green
and pristine
and the numbers on a clock radio
glowing red
in the early morning gloom
But what it dreamt of most often
what it dreamt of right now
was of its own magnificence
huge and looming
on the side of some infinite tower
high above the town
ticking
tocking
relentlessly
measuring out the lives of everyone below
regulating the beats of their hearts
until they matched the timing
of its own
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Notes:
1. Written on March 30th, 2023
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