Time takes the young child by the hand
and leads it through a golden land
so timeless it will never note
Time’s other hand is at its throat.
This little poem was just published in Snakeskin, in one of its richest issues ever. I’m glad to have been included, along with several others–Claudia Gary, Tom Vaughan, George Simmers, Marcus Bales–of the formalist poets who appear in the Potcake Chapbooks. And a shout-out to Nikolai Usack, who made me clear up clumsy pronouns in the original draft.
Form in Formless Times 
I try to avoid calling human beings “it” and “that” because to me it sounds as if they are being treated as objects … so perhaps consider …
Time takes young children by the hand
and leads them through a golden land
so timeless they will never note
Time’s other hand is at their throat.
But if you disagree, what you have is fine.
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I considered but rejected that, because I would then want the last word to be “throats”. So I considered “one never notes”, but that was way off. I’m not sure there is a perfect solution, always trade-off. But that’s life…
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In that case you might consider:
Time’s other hand poised at each throat.
And I think “poised” gives you a more graphic, sinister image as well.
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It’s an interesting little puzzle. I continue to tinker with poems, sometimes for years. This looks like one of those.
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Walt Whitman kept revising his masterpiece “Leaves of Grass” and was still making revisions on his deathbed, so you’re in good company!
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