Here amongst the pipes and wires and girders
Spinning my yarns and my poetry
A contrarian to my environment
Comfortable in my industry
The idea of idle
Sitting about and
Simply
Contemplating
It is a rare treat
The great tragedy of my humanity
This constant compunction to do something
It is killing us
It’s killing me
And yet we are feeling pressured
To do just something
I am the vorticist
In quiet contemplation
In the din of my existence
Aged industry
Boilers and steam
Air and whistles
Motors humming through the circuitlatory
Pulsing
Artificial life
Derived from physics
Observed from nature
All there in my simple grasp
The touch of a button
The twist of a valve
Keystrokes in control
I could do it
I could
I could end it all
But why would one
This din keeps it all away
All at bay
I am the vorticist
An artist the poet
In all this industrialist
Quag
Quag
2 comments:
Cool..I like it, Norton.
(I might change 'to electric avenues' though .. a bit too cliché? And, do you mean `to`of `through`?)
Thank you Marjo. I did wince at the cliche myself. A change made.
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