Poet Ari Appel |
Manic Mechanic
My brain is flooding with information;
Information circulates through my neuro-circuitry
Like an electrical current.
I am dizzy, my vision is distorted, and
My head pounds at three second intervals.
The world is spinning.
My hands are engaged with tools.
I am twisting a wrench at every moment,
But I do not know what I am fixing.
The bikes pass through my workstand somehow
But my I am focused on the abyss,
The winding gaps in the scrap butyl tubes in a pile
Under my stand, coated with an indescribable white chemical powder
Leftover from their manufacture.
I can't stare at the pile enough;
It seems to provide the only symmetry to my mind's condition
That's where I've gone,
That's what I'll tell my friends and family:
I'm stuck staring endlessly into a pile of scrap butyl.
You may see me look elsewhere, but
You know where I really am.
Somehow, I still get the job done.
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