By: Emily Perkovich
The clocks spun on spider legs, running and break, breaking, braking at the joints, and forever crawling quick, in bursts and fits and strangled movements that you cannot
catch with hands too fast, not meant for holding, and forever leaving, creeping away
and spin, spin, spinning out the web of time, a loom with silk pulling into violin bows, stretched across disappearing, shrieking moments of instrument bodies, and
crawling and stirring, but slipping and whirring, with limbs of candy floss thread,
jumping in still frame movement from moment to disjointed moment, to
next, to last, back again.
Emily Perkovich is from the Chicago-land area. When she is not traveling for work, she spends her weekends in the city with her family. Her work has been published on Prometheus Dreaming.