The Dead Swiss
The clock produces different places.
one minute I am a child asleep,
the next,looking at a skyscraper!
cities rise, then are drowned
bells sound, teatime, downtime
far off in Ys, kids are still playing
at the bottom of a lake.
we think we are alive, next moment
we are someone else - such change
causes no consternation; the dead Swiss
merely wink at one another
adjusting their chronographs
to allow for such Atlantean jetlag.
Copyright Veronica Aldous 2008
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