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The Machine and I ww19 December 2011

We have an understanding
the Machine and I.
How it strikes the steel sea,
high and dry on spikes
and rods beneath the
face of the Earth.
Excuse me while I scrat
around in the oil and dirt
for my fugitive youth,
I love the Machine it
always rages with me.
I can't ignore the restlessness
hiding in the Machine,
steam in its canine skin
poised to bite like Mother's
milk. You know how
women love guilt.
The Machine and I
turn and turn as the
speltered clock defines a killing.
I'm watching the
holes in the vacuum
nurturing delusions to drill
in neat rows in April.
We have an understanding
the Machine and I