another montage poem

another montage poem. unsolicited, unpublished. written in august 1998.

again, thanks to all who have visited. ya'all come back again, please.


PAPERMILL CLOSURE

1
the clock has either fallen asleep
with the backtender,
or has forgotten what it was designed to do.

my hands are sore
from slabbing out wrinkles in this paper,
though the blisters will wait
until morning to appear.

on the bulletin board, the list of 41 positions
to be eliminated -
positions - as if they had no names, or faces,
no families attached.

2
the highway stretches out forever,
right into the arms of uncertainty.

it is the same nothingness
as the sound of empty lockers rattling
in an evening thunderstorm
that will no longer affect the transformers
on the fourdiner.

3
she wears no lace
for morning.

the rags she washes
are merely dreams that frayed.

she has forgotten the purpose of smiles.

4
morning fog on the mountain
where the cougar is hunted -
his once domain, now a cage,
now a trap ...

5
the callouses on my hands
will vanish, as dollars in my checkbook,
until one morning, all that remains are memories
dissipating as fog off the mountain
that too has forgotten the feel of production.

now all visions are stark & desolate.