Monastic Spastic

Look at him

Railing against the acknowledged

Unable to ascertain what he so knows

Yet cannot comprehend

He makes his choice

To enable peace, withdraw

God has not made room in his vessel

And who can move against God

He can

Cause he can move mountains

All failures possess him

All futures inspire him

Move along folks

There is nothing to see here

The convulsive knell of a re-inspiring soul

Aspiring back

Now take him or don’t

He is as is

Honest precise

Disoriented

Yours truly,

Verbose Boot

I am the vorticist

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