centuries ago
it seems
since

I kept a timepiece
strapped
     round a pulsing circulation
     a merry go round
    like the faces of clocks

swung the pendulum
at 13
joined the throng of
serious watchers of 
the stroke 
midnight
quarter hours
divisions by 60
on the dot

never later than they said
tut tut tutting
ticking off

tardiness was next to sinfulness

still is 
a rebuff to any arrangement 

waiting at the altar        on the tarmac      by the platform clock

time was though when it was boundary for me
safety net for them
the therapy room clock subtly seconding each unspoken moment 

timepiece is my heart beat now
I need no other monitor of passing

Joining Melissa for her Poetics prompt: Unpunctuated in which we do away with all those guiding symbols of pause and meaning