My Boston Stapler #2

My rail is empty, empty, empty,

a void in the pit of me, hollowed out,

cored like a cooking apple.

A silo without a missile.

A chamber without a cartridge.

A cannon without a circus clown.

I cannot fulfill my purpose, purpose, purpose,

the only function I am true for, made for.

Like a retired steel worker I stand

on the ground, shoulders eroded,

squinting up at the unfinished skyscraper.

He and I need work to be. He. Me.

I burn to be of use, use, use,

to bite the wind with steel incisors,

to pincer like a horseman with iron thighs,

to stamp, fold and mutilate. Volumes.

To embrace the neat typed innocent pages

like an editor, sanguine stylus poised.

I want you to fill me, fill me, fill me

up to the gills where I breathe the air of action.

Feed me the blind rapture of accomplishment,

twine your pulsing fingers round me and squeeze!

Lift me high and use me hard. Oh, yes!

I am ready. Take me. Make me. Stake me.

RussellWrites Blog by http://russellwrites.blogspot.com is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

My Boston Stapler

Still and sleek you wait at attention,

Glistening black as a whale gone deep,

Common as beans.

But amid the paper clips, you tower, Rhodes Colossus,

Or Emma's. Legs arched, a Gateway to tidiness.

Head on, a Dubai skyscraper.

Your spine beckons with caterpillar segments,

My fingers caress your torso, then squeeze.

Inch worm motion.

You bite. Ka Cha. Ka Cha.

Paper-punching bureaucrat. Spring-loaded toady.

Tasting the pulp of Shakespeare. IRS forms.

Yet your narrow metallic threads unite in ordinary design,

Declaration, gospel, play, symphony, and oration. Poem.

Clasping the universe.

RussellWrites Blog by http://russellwrites.blogspot.com is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.