A Clockwork Poem

you can see my moving parts by lifting aside this curtain here where flesh is fused with my mechanical arts & all is encased in polished enjambe- ment ... tiny wheels enforce this rhythm trigger reaction maintain flow - while clock- works monitor internal pressure & signal the hours like early birds - i sing with steam this pulse enervates a quiet meaning (my labyrinthine hulk) & days disappear under time's resisting ladder scheme the wailing echo silver screws are my grammar & whistles my code - an abstract mechanic oils my pistons & my cogs until at last perpetual i shudder on my electric rails the countryside forms lakes of blue-green blurs while passing poems cause a bang & under us the track is glistening sweat creates a traceable trail (an endless journey to pass a line over a bleak white space where meaning terminates in cuckoo recitals worthy of the brochure or else rhymes from a motor age


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