all my life i have wanted to be a
papermill mechanic in minnosota.
i would write short stories on pieces
of sawdust as they flew through the air.
my grandfathers diligence would be for
all to see, my broken and bare knuckels
bleeding openly.
mumbling under my breath the holy scirptures
as i passed by vacant spaces.
the sunlight would reveal depressions
in a pool of diesel on the concrete floor.
and for a few minutes between the spinning
of the calloused blades and the tearing of
skin and roots someone would turn thier
head and see the mercy seat at noon.
a motion of the hand would be given
and all the norwegian sons would
gather together to sit on a couple of bent
metal folding chairs round a table
in the breakroom.
only i would be left to stack a few ply sheets
in a far off corner maybe saving one to
write the great american 21st century novel.
Categories:
papermill,
Form: I do not know?
ROBOT ICI
Robot ici
There is a robot sitting ici on this computer
He has a name and number but no freedom of religion
He is soon taken from his places that he goes
Big frog hopping in a little jargon pond
Working on his nothing to complete his daytime job
Of standing on his pocket leaning overbearing moment of decay and death
somewhere forgotten to be kept
How many people am eye how many people must eye be
Everyone is crazy in this new millineum of time
Am eye the robot baseball player the batter up and pitcher
Am eye still the cop the undercover thriller
Am eye only the dishwasher in my white apron getting so wet and dirty
Am eye the papermill employee scooping big heaping shovels of decay
Am eye the dairy man giving all the milk away in bottles full of cow
This robot was once human once full of life
Categories:
papermill, funny, introspection, mystery, nostalgia,
Form: Free verse