Skin Wobbly

Two minutes fast: sentinels question me
as to my effectiveness at winding quantum clocks.
Have I lost the key again? Could I not find the neutron sink?
Resonators stand as rebuke. Precision captured
as ping-pong balls spinning in hypertext clocks,
italicized birch trees ticking
to the duvet's silence -

- a rabbit, on cue, beadles on to the golden stubble
between the family hour
and the working week's semantics -
             now that Kelly oh so loves Felix -
stagger like field mice
             before their extinction event.

Grass seeds, scattered over the lower field,
             boot-strap into the next second
dynamically acquiring unseen targets
             along the herring-bone edge of a hill-sides' sinusoidal wave.
Cradle lightly the plumes rise and a swallows'
swift ascent into a radar's field -
a broad stream of gushing stardust.

Winking lights emerge from
collections of real numbers
tripling amongst themselves,
chiselling inwards-out from rock.
Star-stuff is left
by the late-flowering Laburnum tree for a better day.
Will the Lone Ranger
appear by the broken stile?
Will our bones whiten peaceably
beneath the black-hills silhouette?
Do I want to be the pudding that ate Chicago?