Click

I was born in the shallows

of the great grey lake

where the rocks were like razors

and the air tasted green

click.

I was raised under the dock

of the barely thawed beach

where the light became slits

and the air tasted rotten

click.

I grew in the swamps

of the tall oak forest

where the sun pierced the darkness

and the air tasted wet

click.

I lived in the grass

of the lumpy-bumpy hill

where the dirt turned white to red

and the air tasted sharp

click.

I stay in the tiny white room

in the big white building

where the clicking never stopped

click.

And the air tasted like nothing

if there was even air at all

And the sun never rose over the water

click.

and the clicking never seemed to stop

the clicking never stopped

clicking never stopped

stop

click.