Friday, June 5, 2009

nightfall on the aged factory

shadows and echoes silhouetted amid weeds
on well-dressed windows, hindering, the view
of stripped auditors with CEOs,
in the introverted night-light,
the fading moths in the shadows,
a satiated cat, in the meadows,
the factory, a raven lacking in wings,
eager to take off ,
wind bouncing off unhinged tin sheets
shrieking a howl of grouses, quivering
in a stunning spasm akin to a fake frisson,
the inexplicable insides
murmuring an old contraption’s stutter;
crunched credits lay side by side
with unwashed linen in a bunch,
among bank badges,
wrenching- hooks, ‘black holed’ sledge hammers,
mindless and tainted
among pledged stocks ; salt-rubbed ,
branded goodies, abandoned,
oiled, greased and tattered skirts, under the table,
skeleton of a skirted albatross in the neck.
culpable fallow rubbers, inflatable,
making a child’s innocence afloat,
lingering, lacy longings unvoiced
among the umpteen pads of invoices.
the silent phone with saturated giggles,
the corroded columns, like so many phalluses,
incomplete, pending stimulus.
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