Fabricant

Impertinent the rust revising time,

The gutter coughing heavy dust,

The right angles impulse handbuilt

Having never taken consult with

The steam its engine spins to brick.

Becoming known emits semblance

That bends whip back to source,

The field where bulbs the mimicry

Of nerve—neatly not in row, nor

Fallow like the trench’s discontent,

But fulgent and eluding order’s kiln.

Midwife of a wait, you know to let

The apparatus rest. Hi tender shadow

Behind the sun, here I am. I’m here.

I’m licking the glint off forged wind.