a report on my fast

my factory closes:

no input or

output.

it begins consuming

itself:

drill presses eat

lathes,

pancreas devours the

pituitary,

janitor roasts the ribs

of the foreman

over a gasoline drum.

i look for meaning

in this insurrection.

 

this morning a school bus came

roaring out

my mouth.

i must have built it

years ago,

jaundiced.

 

this is the last call

I make to

you on the outside.

my machines

still run,

producing nothing.

 

i do not need

your help.

 

Published by

sanberdooboy

I've been writing mostly poetry for many years and have gotten a number of works accepted in publications and anthologies. I'm most interested in communicating with poets for whom craft is a high priority. I enjoy finding and commenting on poetic gems in other people's work. For my own work, I welcome polite comments, whether positive or critical.

9 thoughts on “a report on my fast”

    1. the subconscious can lead one to some intriguing, sometimes horrible places. for me, reality can become a gelatinous or a metallic substance. so glad you found the poem interesting and that you read my poems.

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  1. When I read this poem, I am impressed and also something touched me too… Maybe I am wrong, but there is a touch of being older… It was amazing. Thank you dear Michael, Love, nia

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  2. nia, thank you for your perceptive comment. i guess that if i survive long enough then i might see things differently than i did when i was younger. it’s not that i am smarter. it’s not that i am necessarily wiser. aeschylus notes that we “can” learn from suffering. but sometimes we don’t. i think that you have noticed something important in the poem. i appreciate that you shared your responses.

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  3. A heavy, vivid piece. Evokes some Rust Belt imagery for me, with the factory and machines connecting to an intense physicality, a sense of physical memory balanced with an understanding of inevitable decay. Great stuff, lean and spare and strong.

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  4. To read this is to feel, to be reminded, of my own mortality and to desire deeply to prolong this moment I currently inhabited…and to reach out and comfort others, so that we may reassure each other…

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  5. You are truly a strong, steady composer – it is a delight to sort of settle into the rhythm of your voice. There’s a quiet violence to it all. I appreciate that. Kansas spreads out in it as well. I appreciate that. Sometimes I wonder if you’re Stafford’s cousin.

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