May 05 2009
Nightfall On the Aged Factory
shadows and echoes silhouetted amid weeds
on well-dressed windows, hindering, the view
of stripped auditors with CEOs, in the introverted night-light,
the fading moths in the shadows, a satiated cat, in the meadows,
the factory, a raven lacking in wings, eager to take off ,
wind bouncing off unhinged tin sheets shrieking a howl of grouses
in a stunning spasm akin to a fake frisson, the inexplicable insides
murmuring an old contraption’s stutter;
crunched credits lay side by side
with unwashed linen in a bunch,
among bank badges,
‘wrenching’- hooks, ‘black holed’ sledge hammers, mindless and tainted
among pledged stocks ; salt-rubbed , branded goodies, abandoned,
oiled, greased and tattered skirts, under the table,
skeletons of a skirted albatrosses in the neck,
culpable fallow rubbers, inflatable, making a child’s innocence afloat,
lingering, lacy longings unvoiced among the umpteen pads of invoices.
the silent phone with saturated giggles,
the corroded columns, like so many phalluses,
incomplete, pending stimulus.
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