(a work poem)
I'm looking for the meter room. The main building stretches like a prolapsed cave. Outside, in the modular building I'm going to tap someone from a hard-hatted group of guys on the shoulder, Ask him where his boss is-- I decide not to disturb him or any of them, Admiring their two dimensional saints Airbrushed into a vulnerability no women possess Combined with the inflexibility of wood fibers And the inscrutability of a printed page That no mark can resist. I feel like an outsider at a holy shrine. I feel uncout in the presence of a linear accelerator Infinitessimally barricaded from a particle flow Which speeds faster each breath. I turn around Back into the winter light Back to my own cave Back to my own search for power.