the
assured destruction of
her
sleep, through the
pluming
clouds of steam, billow white,
lofty
reminder of all our offal
gone
to be rent, particle-fine,
falling
through mesh, rejoining
the
soil
ashfields,
quiet and expansive, a
patch
of pale upon the earth,
sequential
layers of dross and dreck,
the
remains of all our refuse,
ashes
to ashes and
dust
we are again
and
still you wake her, your insistent
whine
and hum snaking across the
covers
(having already crawled past the
draperies)
insufficiently thick to keep
you
out, playing about her head….
as
if to say: get up, get up, and
finish
those last tasks undone by
your
blear-eyed sloth, my serried
ranks
of valves and engines outrun
you
always, belching steamclouds, moaning,
relentlessly,
in your ears, here I am
here
I am again and again
and
again, my force and
fury
spent into the air
wreathed
round you, a noose
of
noise, the pall of an embrace
gone
on too long
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