There is no cleaning out.
Weariness in change is the gear
At the factory's heart; it's
oil and dust turned attar of clocks.
The landlord leaves it unlocked
in case of fate needing space
to continue weaving.
Weariness in change is the gear
At the factory's heart; it's
oil and dust turned attar of clocks.
The landlord leaves it unlocked
in case of fate needing space
to continue weaving.
-- Chrissa
Very cool, Chrissa. Succinct and satisfying.
ReplyDeleteThe landlord leaves it unlocked!! I absolutely love this poem Chrissa! Deep and lovely!!
ReplyDeleteStrong opening, and that second line is just amazing--it brings the reality of coping with change into clean perspective, and gets to the heart of a different kind of work we all must do to survive--yet how tired we get of it, and of that space it continually strives to fill. Or so I read.
ReplyDeletethis poem has a perpetual motion to in... the clock must always turn, i like your image of spider webs reinforces the voice of the poem, your little is perplexing, a mystery, but i like that, adds another element to the poem. enjoyed reading this
ReplyDeleteSigh, gorgeous writing. You always provide wonderful poetry.
ReplyDeleteThe factory exists and the door is unlocked. So much potential in those concepts.
ReplyDelete