Thursday, July 11, 2013

a poem, a fucking poem: My Mechanical Spirit

My Mechanical Spirit



oh, by jeepers I'm a tool

I live by pliers and wrenches

can't get enough of bountiful saws

have awakenings from utensils

the old lady who lived in this here dump

left plates and saucers

a tea set of iron porcellain with rep stripes

like her late hubby's neckware

spartan forks and napkins

were among the last clean things in my greasy grasp

and lordy she left behind

her old hammer and sickle

I've removed opportunist weeds for fifteen successive mini-millenia

with that tempered steel hook she gave me

I beat nails into wallboard for hanging pics on velvet for three five year plans

using the old lady's hammer

I got the wave

the waves of grain

I got the waves of grain under control

 

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