they love my sweat, most of all

another from 3-93, this one published in the Fall of 1997 by The Poet's Attic Quarterly, another of those ever important small press 'zines that need your support. this poem is about the time i was a night watchman at Cuddeback Lumber Co.

not much else going on, back to work in the morning - with a whole bunch of overtime on my plate later next week. Oh, them guys love me at the mill, that is for certain ..... or well, maybe not - just love my sweat i think.






CARRY CLOCKS

it is of carrying clocks i speak
& broken hands that fumble them

shards of glass

& steel

that measure nothing

it is of eternity stopped

that vigil without purpose
those peering eyes that see the same thing until it is the only thing

dante on the gramophone singing delta blues
it is
it is no longer a necessity to be coherent
coherency is a virtue of the vibrant living

now i dance nervously to the chaotic chords